Dance With the Devil
by Halia Stone
Summary: He was caught up in a deadly game with the world's most powerful supernatural being, Klaus Mikaelson, through events beyond his control; Damon wasn't sure if he was going to make it out alive. Hunter!Damon AU
1. Phantoms

**So, this is a new story I wanted to try and flesh out—if anyone's still reading/interested in my work that is—that I originally wrote for another fandom. But I'm no longer active in said fandom, and I actually thought it might be better fitting for a Klaus and Damon story.**

**Let me know what you thought, and I'll see you soon with another update if you like it!**

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_This was bad, there was more of them than he thought._

Damon shot down the corridor as fast as he could, a pissed off vampire woman hot on his ass. Boy had splitting up been a bad judgement call.

There was a rush of air in front of him and another vampire was blocking the bottom of the stairwell; he was anticipating such a move and readied a tranquilizer needle filled with vervain, running head-on at the vampire and stabbing the needle into his shoulder.

He shoved him away, his heart hammering with adrenaline. Another leapt at him like a cat, hissing and baring his fangs. He grabbed his scruff, using the vampire's momentum from the jump against him, and threw him over the banister with a grunt of effort. He crashed into the crowd of five, ravenous vampires on the ground floor.

Damon dashed up the stairs just as the vampire woman behind him let out a frustrated roar of, "Get him!"

He withdrew his machete from his belt as he reached the top floor, swinging it wildly at two on-coming vampires. They went down in a bloody mess of limbs and organs, their heads lolling on the floor. He kept moving, luring the one chasing him further down the hallway.

Stopping in his tracks, he made a hairpin turn and the vampire was running too fast to be able to stop herself. He stabbed his machete into her chest and she went down with a pained scream; Damon then pulled it out and decapitated her with a swift swing of the weapon.

He stopped to gather his breath, panting heavily.

He was then lifted off his feet and slammed back-first onto something solid that broke on impact and dug painfully into him as he hit the ground, his weapon skittering across the floor as he lost his grip on it. His vision swam momentarily as his head smacked against the floor, barely managing to make out the snarling face of another female vampire pinning him down.

The muscles in his arms ached as he fought with every ounce of his strength to keep those wicked fangs away from his neck. He kept one hand around her throat, fumbling around him for a shard of whatever he had been tackled onto, snatching up a large shard so tight his knuckles were bleached white.

He jammed it hard into the side of her neck, grinning triumphantly as he realized it was a large shard of wood, most likely from a table. As she started to choke, blood dribbling down her neck, he shoved it in deeper and, with the hand around her throat, pushed her over and got on top of her.

Damon yanked the shard out and poised the sharpest end above the vampire's ribcage, not giving her any time to recover as he used all his strength to stab in into her and force it past her breastbone. She expired with a pained cry, her skin greying and her veins bloating.

An angry snarl echoed from behind him. Damon turned, reflexively raising his arms over his head—

The vampire stopped like a switch had been flicked, collapsing forwards and crashing to the ground with a stake in his back. Behind him, Alaric Saltzman—one of his regular hunting partners—was standing in the doorway holding a modified shotgun.

"Good timing, Ric!" he called with a grin.

Ric rolled his eyes and jogged over to help Damon up from the ground. He frowned, noticing the other man was alone.

"Where's Logan?" he asked, groaning in pain as he righted himself and his back started to ache.

"We got separated," Ric said with a concerned look.

"How unfortunate," Damon muttered dryly, not sharing his friend's sentiments.

There was then a very human-sounding scream then a string of curse words bursting through the silence that had swept over the house. Damon and Ric exchanged similar looks, both their eyebrows shooting up.

"Still alive, then?" Ric guessed, looking up at the ceiling as heavy footfalls sprinkled a fine layer of plaster dust and dirt down on their heads.

"How unfortunate," he repeated.

The other man chuckled and Damon rolled his eyes, bending down to swipe up his machete. As they left the room, there were three vampires blocking off the left-hand corridor and one blocking the right.

"How d'you wanna do this?" Damon whispered to Ric out of the corner of his mouth, readying his machete.

"I'll take the right, you take the left," he responded.

They shared a nod and made to attack their respective vampires, but at the last minute changed directions and went for the others; they clearly weren't expecting it. Damon leapt into the fray of three, slicing and hacking like a madman. The first two were decapitated with ease, but the third was closer than Damon thought and he caught a fist to the jaw.

Stumbling back, he hit the narrow corridor, feeling blood trickling from his nose. He grinned and wiped the blood off. The vampire shot forwards, and Damon delivered a hard punch to her ribcage which had her recoiling with four mini stakes embedded in her stomach.

He smirked at the frightened look she gave him, briefly flashing her the ejector mechanism he had around his wrist before pulling his sleeve all the way down. If it was possible, she went even whiter as he swung his machete down on her neck, her blood splattering over him as her head bounced on the floor. Damon looked over to Ric; he had made quick work of the remaining vampire.

"You go get Logan," Damon called over to him.

"Are you sure you wanna split up again?" he asked hesitantly.

"Can't be many left now," Damon shrugged dismissively, not really giving Ric a chance otherwise to persuade him as he was already heading down the largest, winding staircase.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up as he entered the largest room—looked like a dining room—and held his machete at the ready. He couldn't see much, even with moonlight beaming down through the cracks in the celling; he felt vulnerable and he didn't like it.

"So," Damon jumped at the voice echoing around the room, tightening his grip on his weapon as he moved in the direction he thought it was coming from, "You've killed most of my family"—

He raised his eyebrows; twisted sense of the word.

—"but you've stopped nothing!"

The owner of the voice made herself known, stepping out of the shadows to where Damon could see her. She was an attractive woman, with dark eyes and curly red hair falling around her face in tresses.

"This goes bigger than you and me, Salvatore," she said with an increasingly smug smile, "You're just playing into his hands like he wants you to," she added, chuckling.

Damon responded with a wry smile. "Never been a fan of vague threats," he said, "And you don't seem like much of one," he rebuked, shrugging and pulling a face.

"Oh," the vampire bared her fangs in a dangerous smile, "you have no idea."

Just like he predicted, she charged for him and Damon was able to stay one step ahead, using her own momentum against her and flipping her to the ground.

Much to his dismay, she was quicker than the other vampires and had clearly had experience with hunters before; he managed to move back in time as her foot shot up to collide with his jaw, moving the main impact to his chest inside. He staggered back, coughing as pain cascaded down his ribs.

The vampire was up on her feet in a flash, darting straight for his jugular—and Damon let her. He grimaced when her fangs pushed through his skin and began draining him dry, but the distraction was what he needed.

Shoving a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a length of razor wire he had soaked in vervain—one of his more overkill ideas, but it worked—and began wrapping it around the woman's neck as she was making a meal of his.

She withdrew, hissing in pain as the vervain burned her skin; Damon smirked and pulled the two ends taut. The wire sliced into her skin and the flesh the vervain was touching smoked and sizzled, the acrid smell filling Damon's nostrils.

He pulled tighter and tighter, the wire gouging into the woman's neck and past her spinal bone; blood was cascading down her neck in bright red waves and she could do nothing but choke and gargle on it.

With a firm yank, the wire went slack as the vampire's head was completely severed. A spigot of blood spurted up into Damon's face as the body thumped to the floor. He caught his breath, wiping as much of the vampire's blood off of him as he was able.

As his adrenaline wore off, Damon became aware of a painful stinging in his hands, pulsing with every beat of his heart; the wire had torn into the flesh of his knuckles and palms in beaded, bloody ribbons.

Groaning, he wiped his hands on his jeans. The blood continued to bead up in rivulets, a familiar voice echoing in his head:

_You must remember to wrap your hands. You'll rip them to shreds, otherwise._

He'd been in a similar scenario before, except the razor wire was substituted for a chain that had been around his neck, it was how he knew what to do; sure, he had been kind of showboating a little to prove he wasn't afraid of him or his games, it was more to let off some steam. That vampire had been irritating.

But now it was bringing all sorts of unpleasant memories to the surface months later, memories that Damon was trying to desperately shove down in a mix of blood, violence and alcohol. Wasn't healthy, but he couldn't talk to anyone about it either, even if he wanted to.

"Damon?" Ric's voice called for him, "Buddy, you good?" he asked again, his voice getting closer.

"Yeah, I'm good." He hadn't even realized he'd just been staring at the corpse like a man lost in time; he turned around and saw Ric supporting a severely banged-up Logan as they walked into the room.

He cracked a grin at the other man's state. "Honey, you look awful," he simpered in a sarcastic tone, snickering.

"Can it, Salvatore!" Logan growled, although the effect was diminished somewhat as he winced from a pain in his ribs and had to further lean on Ric.

"Speaking of cans," Damon began, "make yourself useful and get the gasoline," he ordered, jabbing a thumb out the door.

Logan reluctantly left, snarling and grumbling under his breath as he limped off. Ric chuckled as he walked over to him, handing him some bandages from his duffel.

"Thanks," he responded.

"Bit much, don't you think?" Ric asked as he looked from Damon's slashed up hands to the vampire's crudely decapitated body.

Damon didn't answer, just set about wrapping his hands up with the bandages and sticking some gauze over the bitemark on his neck until he could get back to headquarters and stitch it up. Instead, he turned the attention to Logan.

"Why my father insists on partnering us with him, I will never know," he commented in disdain, "Also how he isn't dead yet," he added in surprise.

About ten minutes later, the house was starting to stink of so much gasoline Damon was getting dizzy from the overwhelming smell. Nasty, crude work, but it had to be done.

It was part of the disposal process Giuseppe implemented after too many vampire corpses buried in shallow graves were getting discovered by the public; the vampires' bodies were burned and then Sheriff Liz Forbes and her deputies 'stumbled' across the scene and reported the story on the local news—presented by Logan Fell—to the unsuspecting public. This would end up being a simple case of arson by unidentified teenagers, with no mentions of the bodies.

As he heaved a wave of gasoline over the female vampire's corpse he'd killed with the razor wire, his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He put the can down and pulled out his phone.

It was Stefan.

"What?" he asked as soon as he pressed the answer button, walking away slightly from Ric and Logan bickering over what best to do since it looked like they weren't going to have enough gasoline to thoroughly torch the place.

"Where the hell are you?" Stefan demanded, "You said you'd be back about an hour ago," he added, almost accusingly.

"'Hi' to you too, Stefan," Damon responded lightly, raising his eyebrows even though he couldn't see them, "This meeting's taking a while; one of the board guys is a real _dumbass_," he raised his voice on that word, needling a look at Logan, "and keeps interrupting whenever someone pitches an idea," he added.

Damon and Giuseppe never really specified to Stefan exactly what they did for a living, just that they worked in a boardroom from time to time and Damon took some odd construction jobs. The plan had always been to introduce Stefan to the hunter's division of the Founder's Council when he turned eighteen, but recently Damon had a change of heart and managed to persuade Giuseppe otherwise. After Florence, it was surprisingly easy.

But now the lack of coherence surrounding the day job of the often-absent father and flighty brother was beginning to bite them both in the ass; what if Stefan started to get suspicious? Damon was determined that, at whatever cost, Stefan would have a normal life, vampires nothing but creatures in horror stories to him.

"Aren't you a little old to be waiting up for daddy and big brother to come home?" he then added teasingly, smirking to himself.

"Ha-ha," Stefan retorted dryly, "I was gonna go ahead and order food, did you want any?" he asked.

"Nah, I'll get something on the way home," Damon said dismissively; he needed to get out whatever was currently still buzzing around in his system before he went home.

"Ric, you got the matches?!" Logan bellowed over to the other man, even though they were at a reasonable enough distance from each other.

Damon whirled around to glare at Logan, pressing his hand over the receiver so Stefan wouldn't hear the rest of it. "Keep it _down!_" he hissed in warning, "My brother's on the phone!" he explained in a hushed voice.

"My bad!" Logan called over in a slightly quieter voice, looking apologetic.

Damon rolled his eyes and put the phone back into his ear, Stefan finishing up some sentence he couldn't quite catch.

There was an uncomfortable pause before he asked, "Damon?"

"Yeah?"

"Matches?" he asked in bewilderment.

"No, he said 'swatches'," Damon lied quickly, mentally kicking himself for how stupid it sounded, but he had to roll with it now, "For a new carpet in the board room; Dad's idea," he added.

"Right…" Stefan sounded unconvinced.

"Look, I'll be home soon," Damon said as a way to placate him, "Can't promise on Dad, you know what he's like," he added sympathetically.

"Stefan? Movie's starting!" a familiar, female voice called on Stefan's side of the line.

"Sneaking a girl over when you've got the house to yourself?" Damon asked in a pretend-shocked voice, "Stefan Giovanni Salvatore, I'm shocked!" he added exaggeratedly.

"It's Elena, she doesn't count," Stefan said in a blasé manner.

"Hey!" her mock-affronted voice shot through; Damon grinned when he imagined her whacking Stefan on the arm.

"Hi, Damon," she greeted him.

"Hi, Elena," he said back, smiling even though she couldn't see him, "Just so we're clear, Stefan, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he warned him, hearing Elena sniggering.

"Which rules out nothing except the illegal or gross stuff, if you weren't sure," he added for clarification, smirking to himself.

"Glad to know we have our options open," Stefan shot back sarcastically, "See you soon," he said, sounding more hopeful than certain about it.

"Bye."

Damon hung up and headed outside with Ric and Logan once they were done. The match was struck and the house soon went up in a brilliant orange inferno.

He tore his eyes away; the sight was all-too familiar in a way he didn't like. He didn't like the association of choking on smoke and being trapped like a rat the sight and smells bought to his mind. Just like usual, he shoved them back.

He pulled out his phone to distract himself, sending a text to his father: _Nest destroyed; Logan's a bit beaten up and I cut my hands, but nothing serious._

"Damon?" Logan called over to him.

"You wanna head out with us?" Ric offered once they had his attention, "We were gonna go grab a couple of beers before turning in," he explained.

As tempting as it was, and as much as he loved Ric, Damon wasn't sure he could handle a night with Logan hanging around like a bad smell. Not to mention he was feeling on-edge as of late and felt like he needed to stay as compos mentis as possible.

"Nah, I'll just go home," he said with a dismissive wave, "I'm beat," he added, yawning falsely for emphasis.

They then went their separate ways; Damon sat in the driver's seat of his Camaro for longer than he cared to admit, hypnotized a little by the burning building reflected in his left-side mirror. The sound of horrified, trapped screaming filled his ears and he had to press his fingers into the bandaged wounds on the other hand to get them to stop as the pain distracted him.

He swore and punched the dashboard. It had been a month; why wasn't he passed this already?

Thankfully, his text alert rang out into the car before Damon could start spiraling into the recesses of his mind he was trying to keep buried.

_Good; great work all of you. I'll have Liz and her deputies get on the scene soon._

Then another text alert beeped just as Damon made to start the car and drive off:

_And make sure you get home and get some rest, son, you've been working too hard._

He sighed as he put the key in the ignition and turned it. His father knew damn well why he was working so hard—he needed to occupy his mind so he wasn't left alone to think and wallow. And the way he did that was by getting knee-deep in blood and guts; idle hands were the Devil's plaything, as his mother used to say.

(Stefan had suggested he take up woodworking once as a hobby if he was bored, neither Damon nor Giuseppe commenting on the irony.)

"Don't go there, Salvatore," he chastised himself; then he drove off.

About a half-an-hour away from the nest site was one of Damon's favorite diners—Angelina's—that he often went to when the Mystic Grill just wouldn't do it, sometimes taking Stefan and Elena when they'd finished school. He parked on the curb and got out of the car, heading over to the outside seats.

Not long after he sat down, one of the waitresses spotted him from inside the shop and came outside to greet him.

"Hi, Damon, been a while, hasn't it?" the waitress—Carly, Damon recognized her—asked with a friendly smile. About a month, give or take, but he didn't respond.

"No Stefan or Elena tonight?" she asked.

"They're trading me for some alone time at home, if you know what I mean," he responded with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Carly chuckled. "Your usual?" she asked expectantly.

"Yeah, with extra pickles," Damon said with a grin, his stomach beginning to ache in anticipation of the meal—he'd forgotten to eat breakfast this morning, "And a black coffee, please," he added, needing the buzz to keep him awake.

"No problem, I'll have that out for you a bit," she said with a smile, "And don't be a stranger, you hear? We all miss you in there," she added kindly, leaving him with a pat on the shoulder.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Damon slumped tiredly in the chair with a heavy sigh, letting the cool night air wash over him. Even though this was something he used to do like clockwork, it still felt like something alien and foreign; like he was just going through the motions.

Ever since Florence he probably was. He was trying to return to his own version of normal after being caught up in a violent haze for roughly a month, but his scars still tickled and his mind was plagued with nightmares that look on a life of their own. He was a fucking mess; and couldn't do anything about it.

He looked around to find something to occupy his mind—a fox rifling through the garbage, a giggling gang of young teenage girls, anything—as he drummed his fingers on the desk. He spotted a man and a woman talking; anything had to be better than his mind going there.

Or so he thought, as soon as he made out the sculpted profile of the man and the slightly curled dirty-blond hair, he froze. His blood ran cold. He looked so much like—

"Here you are, Damon," Carly's voice broke his reverie with a screeching halt, and his plate of food—fries with ketchup and a double cheeseburger—was placed in front of him on the table.

"Thanks," he smiled charmingly as she also placed down his coffee and a salt and pepper shakers.

He pulled out his wallet and handed her two twenty-dollar bills. "Keep the change," he said before she could turn around to go inside and get it for him.

"You sure?" she asked hesitantly, "this is a pretty big tip," she added.

Damon waved her off, picking up his burger. "A sorry I haven't been in for so long," he said, flashing her another smile.

Carly smiled back, pocketing the money gratefully as she went back inside the barista.

Damon began eating his food, thumbing into his pocket with one hand to pull out an earpiece, focusing on the man and the woman out of the corner of his eye. He had to quit hyper fixating, but he had to be sure.

He put the earpiece in and voices came through in varying levels of static until the little piece focused on them:

"…his stupid GPS made us take the damn scenic route," the woman was complaining with a chuckle.

"And on his daughter's school play," the man said, playing along with her and sounding affronted on the daughter's behalf.

Damon's burger painfully choked its way down the wrong pipe as he recognized the smooth, British accent. Shit…

"Right?" the woman laughed, clearly happy she found someone who agreed with her.

"You just take a left up the road there, and then down onto—"

"Honey!" another man's voice called suddenly.

Damon looked out of the corner of his eye to see a man jogging over—her husband—to them and waving a pamphlet, doubling over, out of breath.

"Honey, it's okay," he said, heaving the words out, "We're… We're all set," he added, showing the woman the pamphlet.

"Well it's about damned time!" the woman cried in relief, chuckling as she slapped him on the arm, "But thanks for your help, anyway, sir," she added to the first man, giving him a grateful smile.

"No problem, love," he replied, now Damon knew it was him, "I'd be careful driving though, the roads get pretty slippery at night," he added, a dangerous undercurrent to his voice that the unsuspecting couple didn't pick up.

The man moved off, bidding the couple goodnight as they got into their car and drove off. Damon ducked under the table to reach his ankle holster—a paranoid move, but he was glad he did it—that held a gun with wooden bullets. He loaded one in the chamber and held the gun to the underside of the table.

He levelled it at the chair opposite as he righted himself, feeling something cold streak down his backbone that wasn't the cool breeze.

The chair was now occupied by the dirty-blond, his cool gray eyes watching Damon with interest. Klaus Mikaelson, one of the—if not the—most powerful supernatural beings in existence; a narcissistic bastard who did what he wanted whenever he wanted, often killing people for mere sport; Damon heavily suspected he got off on it; the thought of ending someone's life better than sex to him.

The thought made his throat ache with phantom bruises in the shape of the hybrid's fingerprints…

"Good evening, Damon," he greeted him with a smile.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "What the hell do you want?" he asked, not even bothering to keep the sheer contempt out of his voice.

"Can't an old friend just stop by to say hello?" Klaus asked innocently, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, you are old, I'll give you that," Damon said in a tight voice, having to pick up his coffee and take a long drink so he wasn't tempted to throw it in the other man's face and get into a fight he wouldn't win.

He wasn't going to make that mistake again in a hurry, that was for sure.

As Klaus chuckled at the scathing remark, Damon tried to ignore the way it made his stomach twist; all too often he'd heard it in Florence, all in various, horrifying scenarios. He grabbed the saltshaker and started to sprinkle a copious amount on his fries.

"You really should be careful with that," Klaus remarked, watching him curiously, "Too much salt is a bad thing," he added.

"Doctor said I have low sodium levels," Damon replied evenly, picking up a fry and popping it in his mouth, "I wonder what such event in my life could've made that happen," he asked, a pointed look at the man in front of him.

The dig was subtle, but Damon knew he got it the minute his lips twitched in a smirk of remembrance. He clenched his jaw and just tried to ignore him, placing his finger firmly in the trigger of his gun.

"Rough day at work?" Klaus asked suddenly.

Damon looked up with a brief frown, before realizing Klaus was looking at the bandages on his hands with a hunger brewing in his eyes he knew all to well—blood had started to soak through.

"No more so than usual," he shrugged, picking up his burger with his free hand and taking a bite. He felt ketchup squeeze out and dribble thickly onto his chin.

"I thought I told you to wrap your hands up?" Klaus reminded him, looking at him expectantly, his voice taking on a tone as if he was scolding a dear pet.

Damon snorted. Told, he said… "Yeah," he swallowed, so not as to talk with his mouth full, "'cause I could really do that with a vampire's fangs in my neck," he said incredulously.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's what you've been doing," Klaus chuckled, his eyes full of mirth.

It took Damon a second to realize what Klaus was talking about. He went to wipe his jaw with his sleeve, but he handed him a napkin with his eyebrow slightly raised, looking amused. Reluctantly, Damon took it from him—his own voice echoing in his mind that he would never take a damned thing from Klaus—and cleaned his mouth with it.

"Mm, Marissa's a nasty territorial thing," Klaus remarked suddenly, "Even when she was a human," he added, giving a little shudder for dramatic effect.

The statement almost sailed straight over Damon's head—of course Klaus was the 'he' that vampire woman had mentioned. Who else's hands would he be 'playing into?' No other vampire seemed to enjoy twisted games as much as he did. And his latest one, it seemed, was creating a vampire nest for the Founder's Council to worry about.

And just like in Florence, Damon couldn't figure out why. He didn't let his face betray anything. "Your vampires, I presume?" he asked dryly, raising a stern eyebrow.

"Not one's I've sired, no," Klaus corrected softly, as if it made a difference to Damon, "But my idea all the same," he admitted, smiling, pleased with himself.

"Why?" Damon demanded

"I worry about you, Damon," Klaus admitted, sounding so sincere he was almost inclined to believe it; but he knew it was all hollow words, a smokescreen to get to him, "All this pent-up anger with nowhere to go and needing a release," he added, his eyes glinting.

"It's not healthy to drink to the excess you have been—"

"Who are you, my doctor?" Damon interjected rudely.

"—so, I thought you could do with letting off some steam," Klaus went on, as if he hadn't heard Damon's outburst, "I knew you'd be one of the first volunteers," he added, making Damon narrow his eyes.

"Although, I'd forgotten how reckless you could get when looking for an adrenaline fix," he commented, looking at the bandage on Damon's neck, "What were you thinking with Marissa? She could've killed you," he chastised him; there it was again, that playful, scolding tone.

"Nice to know you care," Damon muttered under his breath, knowing Klaus could still hear, "And how thoughtful of you," he added, giving him a thin smile, "But if you didn't turn them, what were they doing?" he wondered.

"I compelled them to do what I asked," Klaus said simply, "A couple of animal attacks to get your attention, and I knew as soon as you realized it was a nest of them you'd be almost back to your old self again," he said with a pleased smile, leaning back in his chair.

Damon frowned as something stuck out in his mind. "Vampires can't compel other vampires," he said in confusion.

"I'm a special vampire," Klaus reminded him with a smile, for once there wasn't the slightest hint of gloating in his voice, "Remember?" He looked to him expectantly.

Oh, Damon remembered all right. The scars littering his body and the nightmares plaguing his mind never let him forget it. Forget those golden wolf-eyes looming above him as his hands pinned him to the ground and choked the life out of him.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Damon wondered, forcing his mind out of that dark corner it so often casually wandered into, "Just here to bother me and interrupt my dinner?" he asked with a roll of his eyes, setting down his burger and returning to his neglected fries before it all got cold.

"I've been in Mystic Falls for quite some time, Damon," Klaus said as a matter-of-fact, sounding almost disappointed he didn't know, "I'm after something quite valuable; I'm surprised your father didn't mention it," he added in surprise, tilting his head curiously.

"You're lying, he would've told me," Damon said resolutely.

"What about your friend Alaric?" Klaus wondered, looking at him knowingly. "I didn't picture him for the feeling sparing type," he added with a chuckle.

Damon glared at him.

"I could be wrong," he admitted when he saw the look on his face, holding his hands up placatingly and shrugging.

He felt his nostrils flare as anger surged through him when he realized what was going on—they'd kept him in the dark deliberately. What, did they think merely hearing Klaus' name would send him into a downward spiral? That even a whisper of his whereabouts would send him on a one-man obsessed path to track him down?

"Maybe they thought you couldn't handle knowing I was here?" Klaus suggested, speaking as if he knew what was in Damon's mind.

"They weren't there," he snapped suddenly, trying to shove down the wave of humiliation he felt with a couple mouthfuls of fries, "I don't need them to try and baby me where you're concerned," he declared, his voice taking on a hard edge.

"I find it quite laughable myself," Klaus said, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Why?" Damon asked.

"Because you're better than all of them put together," he replied bluntly, knowingly, "Although I am curious about one thing," he admitted.

He then looked to Damon, almost as if he needed his permission to ask. Damon motioned for him to continue.

"Your father and Alaric hunt vampires out of vengeance, Logan Fell and his family are on some tainted morality spiel about 'ridding the world of evil'"—he made air quotes with his fingers—"but you," he stopped to lean back and properly look at him, a weirdly fond look on his face, "You aren't like your father; I can't figure out what does it for you," he admitted, shaking his head a little.

"Klaus, what does it for me is a mystery you will never solve," Damon declared, picking up his coffee mug and taking a long drink.

The resulting smile—not a smirk of mischief, but a genuine smile—from the hybrid at that remark had Damon briefly wondering what it was like to kiss that dangerous mouth. But then he remembered, as those cool eyes watched the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, he already knew how it felt; his own lips tickling with the phantom sensation.

The sound of heels coming towards them broke Damon out of his trance, glancing towards the noise to see another waitress—Miranda, Damon would know that mermaid-esque dye job anywhere—heading towards them. When Klaus wasn't looking, he pressed his sleeve to his lips, hoping to alleviate that tickling.

"Welcome to Angelina's, can I get you anything?" she asked Klaus.

"Just a black coffee, thank you," he said with a polite smile.

Miranda nodded and wrote it down on her notepad, shoving the pencil behind her ear. "New friend of yours, Damon?" she asked.

"Klaus," he introduced himself, giving him a hand for Miranda to shake, "We met on a business trip," he lied smoothly before Damon needed to scramble for anything; he supposed he technically wasn't wrong.

"Florence wasn't it, Damon?" he asked, smirking where Miranda couldn't see him.

He took a deep breath to steel himself. He would not fire his gun with Miranda millimeters away…

"That's nice," Miranda commented with a smile, "Everything all right with yours, Damon?" she then asked, glancing at his plate of food.

"Fine, thanks," he said with a smile, neglecting to mention the murderous hybrid at the table was anything but for obvious reasons.

Miranda, oblivious to the thick tension between the two men at the table, left to go inside and make Klaus' coffee. Damon didn't say anything more and tried to concentrate on his food.

He got about three-quarters of the way into his burger before he felt Klaus' eyes burning into him, scrutinizing him. He looked up, not bothering to his his annoyance, and swallowed his mouthful.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?" he snarked.

"Didn't yours ever teach you it was a sign of poor manners to pull a gun on someone?" Klaus retorted evenly.

Damon didn't bite; fair enough, he started it with the mentions of dead mothers. "Never came up, funnily enough," he said lightly, "I never pegged you for a necklace guy," he added in surprise, uncurling his little finger from his burger to point at the thing around Klaus' neck.

"I'd get a refund, looks broken," he commented; with a closer look, he realized it looked like one of those gimmicky friendship charms that purposely broke in half, only to reconnect later.

Klaus chuckled. "It's meant to be like that," he explained, hooking his finger around the chain to pull it closer to Damon to show him. It was a chunk of iron that looked like a shattered vase piece, and there was part of an engraving Damon couldn't make out, it just looked like lines.

"So, some unlucky bastard's got the other half?" he asked, slightly horrified at the thought. He took a bite of his burger to try and physically swallow down the revulsion he felt at the idea of Klaus Mikaelson being someone's other half.

"More like, some unlucky bastard's have the other pieces," he corrected smoothly.

"What?" Damon asked, bewildered.

"Ask your father," Klaus said simply, shrugging.

Damon just rolled his eyes, not wanting to press any further. Vampires were weird, regardless of what breed they were.

"What do you tell people?" Klaus wondered.

"About?" Damon asked, playing dumb as he popped the last bite of the burger in his mouth and swallowed it.

"I'm sure your brother isn't blind and can see the amount of wounds you must come home with?" Klaus asked knowingly.

"Not really, I cover them pretty well," Damon said vaguely. Some Giuseppe just flat out forbade Stefan from asking about—his Florence scars.

He looked for his coffee, reaching further into the middle of the table for it than he remembered placing it. As soon as Klaus caught his hand, he realized he had moved it on purpose. His hand was now suspended in his grip, his sleeve ridden up his arm to expose the thick scar on his wrist.

"And what about this?" Klaus raised his eyebrows, turning Damon's wrist over to where a thicker piece of scar tissue was, "What story did you and your father spin him for that?" he wondered, intrigued.

The sound of chains clicking and un-clicking filled his mind; frenzied clanking and rattling as metal frantically banged into other metal; blood splattering over him as it creaked and groaned in protest—

He suddenly yanked his hand free, surprised Klaus let him, and snatched his coffee with a hateful glare at the hybrid.

"Touch me again, and I'll take your head off," he growled, his knuckles going as white as the china mug he was holding.

Klaus chuckled melodically, but his eyes shined dangerously.

Before things could escalate or Damon got dumb enough to shoot him with almost a diner-full of people several feet away, Miranda came outside with Klaus' coffee.

"Here you are sir." She placed it down in front of him. "That'll be—"

She stopped talking suddenly, her eyes completely transfixed on Klaus' own.

"On the house," he said, unblinking.

Miranda then nodded mechanically—compulsion—and headed back inside without another word.

Klaus picked up the mug and drank some of his coffee, leaning back in his chair like he was indeed spending the evening with an old friend.

"Come on now, surely we've established I'm not here to hurt you?" he said softly, raising his eyebrows and looking like he almost pitied Damon thought otherwise, "You can put that gun away," he said, trying to ease him.

"Over my dead body," Damon spat harshly, glaring again, "Just give me an excuse," he added daringly, his lip curling slightly in a sneer.

Klaus watched him curiously; he knew the feeling all-too well—a spectator watching his performer. "I can't tell if you're just reckless, or very brave," he admitted, a look of awe flashing across his face.

"Probably just stupid," Damon retorted with a blasé shrug.

"You're far from stupid, Damon."

He sounded so sincere, so truthful it forced Damon to look up at him. But he was gone.

Letting out a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding, he withdrew his hand and placed his gun on the table, shielded from the diner's view by his dinner plate.

Hands were then on his wrists as he made to push himself up from the chair and leave, pinning him back down with an iron grip. Klaus' chuckle filled his ears, his face leaning over the crook of his neck as Damon tried to move away.

"So why then, I wonder," he began in a gentle whisper, lips brushing against his ear, "Are you hiding just how much you're suffering from your hunter friends and father?" he wondered.

"That's not a very smart thing to do," he pointed out, chastising him.

"_That wasn't a very smart thing to do," Klaus warned him, blood dripping down his nose._

_Damon grinned back smugly, his entire body thrumming with adrenaline, blood dribbling out from his mouth. Before he could retaliate, Klaus' fingers crushingly wrapped around his throat…_

"I'm not hiding anything, I'm fine," Damon insisted.

"If I couldn't hear how fast your heart was beating right now or see how the color drained out of your face when you heard my voice for the first time in several months, I might believe you," Klaus informed him.

Damon leaned as far away as he could to give himself room to glare at Klaus as best he could. "Don't flatter yourself," he warned him, shaking his head in disbelief.

"If you can honestly say you aren't still affected, then why am I still haunting your nightmares?" Klaus asked softly.

Damon didn't say anything, any retort dying in his throat, desperately trying to keep his face from betraying anything.

But maybe he did, since Klaus gave him a soft smile, almost pitying, and removed his hands from around Damon's wrists. He stood to his full height, stroking a crooked finger down the side of Damon's face.

_A crooked finger gently stroked down his cheek as his entire body vibrated with pain. "Just a little more, come on…"_

"I'll be seeing you, Damon," Klaus said, and he stood up, patting Damon on his shoulder.

He turned towards him, staring after him as he headed down the sidewalk. "Why didn't you kill me?"

Klaus stopped and turned back to him as the question rang out in the cold night air. He smiled. "Sounds like you're starting to wish I had," he pointed out, raising his eyebrow.

"But you're searching for logic and reason where there is none," he continued, "I didn't kill you because I didn't want to," he stated simply, shrugging.

"And that's all there is to it, I'm afraid," he stated, sounding like he wished he had more to say.

"So why don't I believe that?" Damon asked.

Klaus smirked at him. "Because you're smarter than you look," he chuckled.

There was a shimmer of motion and Klaus was gone, the sidewalk completely empty in the blink of an eye. Damon swallowed hard, turning around and quickly downing the entire remnants of his coffee.

* * *

Damon was brimming with unanswered questions as he angrily strode through the hunter's division in search of his father. He knew Giuseppe was still here and would be until the early hours of the morning; good, he damn well had some explaining to do.

He didn't even bother knocking on his office door, just wrenched the door open and barged in.

Giuseppe was in the middle of paperwork, looking up in surprise at the sudden entrance. He looked even more surprised when he saw his own son.

"Damon?" He leaned back in his chair, taking his reading glasses off. "I would've thought you'd be home by now," he said in confusion, frowning slightly.

"Were you ever planning on telling me Klaus was here?" Damon asked incredulously, steamrolling right over him before he could start to lecture him about needing to take care of himself, "Or was I supposed to hear it from the man's own mouth?" he added in a betrayed voice, shaking his head in disbelief.

Giuseppe looked alarmed. "What are you—?"

"I just had a dinner date with him," Damon retorted simply, glaring at him.

Giuseppe blinked, stunned. He leaned forwards, elbows on his desk. "Are you okay?" he asked in concern.

"No," Damon said shortly, his temper boiling, "I wanna know why every other person and their damned grandmother around here knew about it and I didn't!" he yelled in exasperation, not even caring Giuseppe's door was open and anyone could hear him disrespecting the head of the hunter's division.

"Damon—"

"And don't you dare say it's because you were trying to keep me safe," he went on quickly, cutting him off before he could answer, pointing a finger at him in warning, "Because you did a pretty piss poor job of it when you sent me to Florence a few months ago," he spat, gritting his teeth.

He wasn't even able to enjoy the fact Giuseppe looked slightly uncomfortable under his angry glare, since he was soon met with a pitying look he hadn't seen on his father's face since his mother's funeral.

"I wasn't sure you'd handle the news well," he admitted, looking him dead in the eyes.

Damon sighed loudly in aggravation, turning away to run a hand through his hair.

"Damon, you came out of a coma after two weeks," he began, holding up a hand as Damon was about to interrupt him again, "and not a even a full two days passed after your discharge from hospital before you were back hunting again," he continued, sounding in disbelief. "And you refuse to get help to deal with your nightmares…" he trailed off, looking at him with that same pity.

Damon swallowed uncomfortably. All too often recently Giuseppe had shaken him awake in a cold sweat like he was a young child. But his nightmares were something he prayed a young child never witnessed.

Giuseppe pushed his chair back and walked around his desk to stand eye-to-eye with Damon.

"Son," he started gently, coming to rest a hand on his shoulder, "I don't often say this, I know, but I'm concerned about you," he admitted, making Damon avert his eyes.

But Giuseppe gently grabbed his chin and forced him to look.

"And I was worried hearing the news about Klaus would send you into a downward spiral," he continued, "You're already drinking more than usual, and I didn't want to worry you'd spend every waking moment obsessing over him," he explained.

"Say for even a second I believe that," Damon retorted, shoving down all the feelings of humiliation he felt at being coddled like a child as he shook his father's hand off, "You don't think I deserved to know? What if I'd ran into Klaus on a hunt and he'd ambushed me again?" he wondered in disbelief.

"It's not because of you he's here," Giuseppe explained, then Damon remembered Klaus had told him to ask his father about his necklace, "I thought I could spare you the details until absolutely necessary," he added, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I made a promise to your mother I'd keep you and Stefan safe," he reminded him.

Damon snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, I was real safe in Florence, wasn't I?" he asked rhetorically, metaphorically digging harshly into him and making him squirm uncomfortably, "I only got out alive because Klaus had a change of heart and decided not to kill me," he revealed with a scoff; it all could've been for nothing if Klaus had decided to break his neck like a twig.

"He told you that?" Giuseppe asked with a worried frown, looking slightly shocked.

Damon nodded, allowing himself to feel how troubled he was about it. "And I don't think he was lying," he admitted.

"How long's he been here?" he asked.

"He appeared…" he trailed off, momentarily glancing at the floor. He sighed heavily and looked Damon dead in the eyes. "About the same time you got out of your coma," he admitted.

Damon's blood ran cold. "So, he hadn't left?" he muttered to himself.

"What?" Giuseppe asked in confusion.

"Nothing," Damon said bluntly, waving him off.

Seeing that handsome face looming above his own like a twisted guardian angel as he lay so weak in a hospital bed was something he would take to his grave; especially the part where Klaus had sped up his recovery by injecting his own blood into his IV tube; the gentle pat on his shoulder as he assured him it was such a small amount of blood it would be out of his system within a few hours.

It was just as frightening the prospect of Klaus not killing him; a man like him didn't do things out of the goodness of his own heart. Yet, he hadn't killed him because he apparently hadn't wanted to and had given him a little blood because he clearly wanted to.

"So, why's he really here?" Damon demanded, folding his arms. "What's he after?" he pried even further.

Giuseppe sighed, running a hand over his face as he no-doubt contemplated hiding the truth from Damon again.

"Shut the door," he eventually said, relenting, "This is need-to-know," he added.

Damon went over to the door and pushed it closed. "And your own son didn't?" he retorted, coming to stand at the edge of Giuseppe's desk.

He didn't bite this time, wordlessly pulling out a picture from a filing cabinet behind him and tossing it on the desk. Damon took it, tilting his head curiously as he examined the contents of it.

It was a white staff that had a gnarled top reminiscent of those trees that if planted too close together would start intertwining. There was a deep red ruby in the center of those tree branch-like pieces at the top; the crowning jewel of the whole piece as it were. At the base of the top, there was a black band around it that had a circle of iron fixed in the middle, a strange symbol in the center. He recognized the iron circle; Klaus had a piece of it around his neck.

"He's after this?" Damon asked in surprise, feeling a slight twinge of disappointment, "What, as a garden feature?" he snorted in disbelief, chuckling to himself.

"It's a very powerful magical artefact," Giuseppe revealed, making Damon raise his eyebrow, "And it holds the source of Klaus' power," he added.

"What?" Damon was completely bewildered. That little thing?

"You remember his story?" Giuseppe began conversationally, "He and his siblings were turned into vampires by their witch mother?"

Damon nodded. Klaus Mikaelson and his siblings—there were three other brothers and one sister—were the origins of the entire vampire species. The Original Vampires, as they were called in the hunter's division, reportedly The Old Ones amongst themselves.

"Well, as you know Klaus is a vampire born of a werewolf bloodline and for some reason, he's so much stronger than any of his siblings," Giuseppe continued, "And this staff is holding his power for the time being," he added, giving the picture a poke.

"It was nature's way of ensuring balance, or so a few witches tell me," he explained.

"But he broke his hybrid curse," Damon reminded him; god he would never forget that sight; three bodies laid out for slaughter—a trinity of women; a Doppelgänger; a vampire; a werewolf—as fire raged around them and Klaus transformed into his true form, "How much more powerful can he get?" he asked in surprise, feeling uneasy about the prospect he could get worse.

"We aren't going to find out, I hope," Giuseppe said with a nervous look in his eyes, "Ever since we got hold of the staff and broke the amulet on the inside"—

He tapped the iron circle with the weird symbol; so that's what Klaus was wearing!

—"his power has decreased significantly," he continued, "He's not much more than an immortal human at the moment," he admitted.

Damon frowned; if he was so much like an 'immortal human' how had he still been able to move quicker than his own eyes could see? Detect something as quiet as a pick-up in his heart rate?

"So, he's going after anyone who has a piece of the amulet?" he guessed.

"Yes," Giuseppe said gravely, "He's gotten two already, and there are four left," he explained.

"Why aren't you hiding them, then?" Damon asked in exasperation, "Rather than giving them to people that no doubt end up dead?" he asked.

"There's a better chance of them being protected like that, rather than Klaus managing to use a witch to find their hiding places in a matter of minutes," Giuseppe reasoned, "He has an entire circle of them ready to do his bidding," he added.

Yeah, Damon briefly brushed a hand over his thigh where another scar was, he remembered.

"As it is, I've had to resort to witches to ensure the pieces can't be located easily and send those with a piece to another country—hell, another continent," Giuseppe said with a frantic wave of his hand.

"Where?" Damon asked in surprise. He hadn't heard anything about this at all, then his eyes narrowed. Transfers his Italian ass—just more lies.

"Sarah Fell's gone to Bolivia; Cameron Forbes has gone to Australia; Jeffrey Lockwood's gone to Romania; and Chelsea Fell's gone to Scotland," Giuseppe explained.

Damon raised his eyebrows in surprise as he mentally conjured up that geographical profile; that would certainly keep Klaus busy. "I get Klaus is a powerful, narcissistic bastard," he began, "but why go to this much trouble?" he wondered, bewildered.

"Because if he finds a way to break that staff, he'll be truly immortal and nothing on earth—not even a witch—will be able to kill him," Giuseppe explained, a haunted look crossing his face.

Damon had visions of Klaus' corpse rising from the ground in Florence, completely unharmed as a stake stuck out of chest. He pushed what happened next out of his mind. "When did you find it?" he wondered.

"About a week or so into your capture," Giuseppe revealed, "We thought it would make it easier to rescue you, but you didn't need it," he said with a sigh, "Klaus had dropped you off at the hospital and was gone before we could launch an attack," he continued.

"That can't be right," Damon frowned, "He seemed pretty juiced up there, believe me," he added; no-one knew that better than him.

"This is troubling," Giuseppe muttered, "If he's found a workaround to the staff to access some of his power, there's no telling what that'll mean," he added, looking worried.

"He's got powers even other vampires think are pure folktales," he continued.

"Can't you just go all Paul Bunyan on that staff?" Damon asked, wondering why they hadn't already done it, "Take him out now?" he added.

"It's protected by very powerful magic," Giuseppe explained, "And if Klaus is the one to destroy it, there'll be no stopping him," he finished.

Damon sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "So, what you're basically saying is, there's nothing we can do?" he asked in disbelief, "We're just sitting ducks here?" he added, showing his displeasure; that had happened once—never again.

"Not until the witches find a way to help us," Giuseppe admitted, sighing again, "But Esther Mikaelson was extremely powerful; she reportedly tapped into magic so dark to turn her children into vampires that witches don't even call it magic," he

Damon was about to ask more, but a loud yawn interrupted him. Giuseppe looked at him—there it was again, that concerned look like he was going to break like a china doll. Damon hated it.

"Look, why don't you go home and I'll fill you in on more tomorrow?" Giuseppe bargained, "You look exhausted," he commented.

"Right," Damon yawned again; he couldn't help it, "I'll hold you to that," he warned, pointing a finger at Giuseppe before he turned and made to leave.

"And Damon?" he called after him as he opened the door.

He turned back around.

"Try and look after yourself," he said gently, almost pleading with him.

Damon looked down briefly, biting the inside of his cheek. "I'm trying, Dad," he admitted quietly.

He then left without another word.

* * *

It was around one in the morning when Damon finally got home—he had to drive slower since he could barely keep his eyes open—and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on any flat surface and let sleep take him, despite the horrors that he knew awaited him there.

He dropped his duffle bag in the walkway—the zips were padlocked even if Stefan did find it and get nosy—about to head upstairs, when he noticed the lights were still on in the living room.

"Damon, that you?" Stefan's groggy voice called.

"No, Stefan, it's a burglar who has keys to the front door," he called back, chuckling.

He headed into the living room, finding a movie's main menu playing on a loop and various Chinese takeout boxes on the small coffee table. Stefan was sat up on the couch, a blanket draped over his lap, and rubbing his eyes.

They looked bleary and bloodshot as they focused on him. Damon hadn't seen this since Stefan was seven—he was almost seventeen himself at the time—and insisted on not going to sleep until he had stayed up to watch all the Lord of the Rings movies.

"You weren't waiting up for me, were you?" he asked, trying not to smile at the thought.

"You're never usually home this late," Stefan said almost accusingly.

"I told you I was stopping to get something to eat," Damon responded with a shrug….

"I doubt it takes you an hour and a half to eat a plate of food," Stefan responded with a dubious eyebrow raise, folding his arms.

"I was out with Ric and some of the other guys from work," Damon lied, not even surprised how easy it came to him to lie to his own brother anymore, "Once they get going, there's no stopping them," he added with a chuckle, almost certain Ric had to carry Logan home from their night out.

Damon moved some of the takeout boxes aside and perched on the coffee table; there was more than Stefan was capable of eating by himself, then he remembered Elena had been over when he had called him earlier.

"Now, you were a perfect gentlemen to Elena, I trust?" he asked, putting on a false gentlemanly impression himself, "Drove her home and everything?" he added teasingly.

"I always am," Stefan insisted, "You're the one that flirts with her," he pointed out, levelling an accusing finger at him.

Damon chuckled; if Elena genuinely had a problem with it, all she had to do was say. "Relax," he held up his hands placatingly, "she's like the sister I never wanted, I'd never go there," he assured him, patting him on the shoulder.

"I got you something too," Stefan said after a sudden start, as if he'd forgotten, "It's in the refrigerator."

"Perfect," Damon said, clapping his hands together, "Saves me cooking lunch tomorrow," he added, neglecting to mention he probably wouldn't have time.

His phone rang suddenly, making him frown. Who would be calling him at one in the morning? Ric, maybe? Or a goddamned persistent telemarketer?

It wasn't Ric; he didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" he said once he answered the call.

"Hello, Damon," a familiar voice floated into his ears.

Damon froze, feeling the color drain out of his face. Stefan noticed his reaction and frowned at him.

He stood up abruptly, pulling the phone away and placing a hand over the receiver, even though who was on the end could hear every word regardless. "Work," he mouthed to Stefan.

He then made a beeline for the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. "What the hell do you want?" he spat angrily as soon as he flicked the lights on; meeting him unprompted in public was one thing but calling him at home was on a different level entirely.

"Just to tell you that I agree with your father," Klaus said lightly; Damon doubted that was all, "You really should start looking after yourself or you'll end up in an early grave," he added in a concerned voice.

Damon was alarmed; how did Klaus know what Giuseppe had said to him? "What are you—?"

"And to tell you I'll be sure to send you a postcard from Bolivia, maybe even bring you back a souvenir," he continued, Damon's eyes widening as Klaus mentioned Bolivia, "Hear it's lovely this time of year," he added with a chuckle.

"How—?"

"Giuseppe won't be happy to know you've been forgetting to drink vervain, Damon," Klaus chastised him, Damon practically able to hear the smirk in his voice, "You have no idea how easy it was to get inside of your head, even from half-way across town," he added smugly.

"Although something tells me I was there long before tonight," he continued, his voice sounding strangely serene, almost pitying.

Damon bit his tongue; he didn't have anything to say. No retort for once, because he was right; he was the phantom that haunted him almost every waking moment, whether he wanted to admit that to himself or not.

"In fact, I'd wager I've influenced almost every major decision you've ever made since Florence," he continued.

"Careful now," Damon warned him quickly, "Wouldn't want you to get a big head," he said dryly.

Klaus' laughter filled his ears; Damon tried not to recoil at the sound. "I'll be seeing you soon, Damon," he promised, "Very soon."

Then the phone went dead as he hung up. Damon felt a wave of anger hit him; he tossed his phone down so hard on the table the screen cracked.

Even if he managed to warn the hunter's in time, he knew this wasn't going to end well.


	2. Whispers in the Dark

**So, here we are with the second chapter (finally, stupid internet). Please do let me know if you liked the story or not, I do genuinely want to continue this one 'cause I think it's a good storyline, different from what I've done before with this pairing, but I'm not sure I can if I don't know people are reading/enjoying it. Have TVD related things just ran their course? (I mean, it did end like three or four years ago)**

**Can't promise I won't take ages to update – well, a two year gap won't happen again, that's for sure – but I plan on finishing this within the year, so that should keep me honest, haha!**

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was cold metal underneath his back. Damon stretched, hearing a loud metallic clang as his foot hit into something, unable to go any further. He opened his eyes to see blurry orange obscured by black lines.

"Where am I…?"

Another attempt to move resulted in another metallic clanging sound echoing in his ears. He rolled over onto his knees, feeling hard metal under his knees and hands. Blinking to clear his vision, he frowned in confusion when he saw cage bars.

"What the hell?"

A queasy feeling of dread bubbled up in his stomach as he looked around him through the cage. Across from him, in a small cramped room, were several other cages with people inside. He jumped back in shock when he realized all the inhabitants inside were dead, mercilessly slaughtered.

The dread gave way to his blood turning to ice as he recognized each of them in turn—the hunter's he was trapped in Florence with. Leila, completely ripped apart as if by a savage animal; Seth, a mass of burnt flesh; Ray, his eyes gouged out—

He angled himself away, unable to look. There had been fifteen of them to start with, _fifteen_, whittled down to just one in a haze of fangs, blood and fire.

"You really thought you were free, Damon?" a familiar voice accosted him softly.

Jerking towards the sound, he saw Klaus standing tall outside the cage trapping him. A sympathetic look crossed his face as he crouched down to his eye-level. Damon felt sick.

"You've been here all along," he continued, "Trapped in an artificial freedom of my own making," he revealed, his eyes shining with mirth.

"What?"

Klaus' smile turned into a wolfish grin. "You're still in Florence," then he reached a hand through the bars to put a hand on Damon's shoulder, "_With me_." His grip tightened possessively, the twinge in his shoulder sending chills throughout his body.

A crimson puddle caught his eye. He looked past Klaus' shoulder to see a blood pool stained into the concrete floor. He followed it with his eyes, jolting back with a shocked yell as he saw what was.

It was a brunette woman with short, spiky hair, gutted from neck to stomach—neck to _pregnant_ stomach.

His back hit painfully against the cage and breath spluttered up from his lungs as he tried to make sense of it. It wasn't possible. _How?_

"No…" he shook his head slowly. "Rose," he breathed, his chest tightening painfully as he saw the milky whiteness of her eyes and the sallow color of her dead skin.

"You actually thought I'd save her?" Klaus asked sympathetically, looking at him like he was a fool.

He chuckled smugly as Damon's eyes widened in horror.

He shook his head, trying to get the god-awful, ringing sound out of his ears. "No," he said through gritted teeth.

"This isn't real," he insisted stubbornly, refusing to believe what was right in front of his eyes; vampires could play tricks. This was a trick, it had to be. "She's alive," he swore.

"I spoke to her a few days ago," he added, although more to himself than Klaus. He remembered the phone being pressed against his ear, Rose's laughter and the sound of her daughter crying in the background.

"This isn't real," he said resolutely, staring into Klaus' face.

But he was gone, leaving behind the echoing traces of a wicked laugh. Instead, in front of him was the animated corpse with Rose's face – had to be, it wasn't _her_ – with pale eyes, her gray tinted skin gaunt, and a river of blood trailing from her lips.

"Why didn't you save me, Damon?" she gargled, her voice a croaky whisper. Blood spurted from her mouth and the gouge mark leeched fresh blood blossoms into her ragged clothes.

Damon's eyes widened in complete horror as a tiny, bloody baby hand slowly edged its way out of the incision.

"Save _us?_" she asked, looking betrayed and haunted.

The sound of a newborn baby wailing filled his ears. Besides Rose, her dead friend Trevor stood accosting him too, his head placed precariously back onto his shoulders. They both started repeating the same thing in a nauseating mantra in his mind; over the sound of the wailing it was too much. Damon clapped his hands over his ears.

One by one, all the dead hunters in the cages slowly started to reanimate in their dead states, repeating the same and all needling him with scathing looks. Save Ray, who's sockets just leaked fresh blood and Seth, who's unrecognizable mass of a face had a hole which didn't look like a mouth, moved tunelessly.

He squeezed his eyes shut as every person in the room yelled out in a distorted voice, "_Why did we die instead of you?!_"

It repeated on and on until it blended together in a horrifying cacophony. The newborn's cries were drowned out by the sounds of fire crackling and roaring. Heat blasted against his skin and the smoke choked his throat and lungs.

He couldn't take it anymore; this wasn't real, this _wasn't_—

"Shut up!" he roared over the frenzied sounds, smacking a hand against the cage.

It fell silent like a switch had been flicked, the clanging of the cage being the only thing echoing out, still ringing in his ears like Klaus' laughter. Damon felt a jerk behind his navel and dared ease his eyes open.

There was pressure against the side of his body, hard and cold. His eyes were open, yet he couldn't see anything at all. Did he even _have_ eyes? Feeling out blindly, his fingers fell through the darkness until his arm stretched to its limit, the same with his legs when he eased himself out of the ball he had been curled up in.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, shakily gathering his breath. The voices had stopped, the ringing had stopped. Pulling himself to his feet, his mind swam, and he lurched forwards, throwing up the contents of his stomach.

They splattered nosily across the ground in the silence. Damon staggered away, wiping his mouth and fumbling blindly. He couldn't make out any shapes, just an endless sea of black that—

"Fuck!" The epithet tore from his mouth as his kneecap smacked into something rock solid, the shock jarring up his whole body.

Something rolled along it – wood, it sounded like wood – and smashed to the floor. A vase, maybe? As he moved, something crunched under his boots. He had to get the hell out of here, wherever the hell that was.

There was a blinding flash of sudden light that had Damon yelling in shock and flinging his arms up, shielding his eyes with his hands. He blinked slowly to force his vision to adjust, reluctantly lowering his hands.

He wasn't alone.

Several men were surrounding him in a circle—no, not men, their eyes were demonic and framed by dark veins. Vampires, and they looked familiar. Damon couldn't figure out where from until he looked at the one behind him and saw his badly charred flesh.

They were all the vampires he had killed in Florence. They looked angry, and _hungry_. How was this possible? They had been destroyed, by his own hand.

"You've come home to us, Salvatore," one crooned happily, a large hole caved into his chest.

He scrambled backwards, shoving through the other vampires behind him. He collapsed to the floor, backing up until he hit against a wall. They continued to advance on him, bracketing him against the wall.

"We've missed you…"

The light was blanketed out as they crowded around him with low snarls. Damon tried to lash out, kick back, scratch, punch, do _something_, but he couldn't move. Desiccated fingers grabbed at him, groping at his arms. One snatched up his hair and pulled his head back.

He squirmed and struggled as best he was able but couldn't budge them. He cried out in pain as fangs tore through his neck, his legs, his abdomen, anywhere they could get to.

Laughter drifted into the room, then it stopped. The searing pain dwindled down to tickling. His neck was sticky with blood and his clothes were ripped. He rolled over onto his knees, opening his eyes. The vampires were slowly collapsing to the ground, their dried limbs crumbling under their weight.

Out of the corner of his eye, one burst into flames and fell to the floor with an eerie smile. Others had limbs fall off like a child tugging on an action figure. Some had their heads roll back so far they fell off and bounced to the ground. Others just desiccated and withered, collapsing as their energy left them.

The lights exploded out, leaving Damon in darkness once more. His only source of light was the orange glowing of the few vampires on fire. Even then, they did nothing to penetrate it. His stomach was starting to twist with dread, and something streaked down his backbone.

Someone was in the room with him, but he couldn't see them. Muffled footsteps didn't sound too far off.

"I thought we could play a game, Damon."

He froze. It was Klaus' voice.

"Where are you?" he called out to him, trying desperately to look around for him.

"If I catch you, I get to kill you," he continued smoothly, ignoring him.

Damon's breathing quickened as he hurriedly swept around the ground to find something he could use as a makeshift weapon, then frantically checked his pockets. There was nothing, and he couldn't see where Klaus was.

"I'm feeling generous, so I'll give you a five second head start," he decided.

"What?"

He yelled out in pain as cold iron snapped around his wrists, locking him in place. He tugged hard and struggled, but the tell-tale clinking of chains told him he wasn't going anywhere.

"Five, four…" Klaus began to count down, causing Damon to panic.

The chains were getting tighter, digging into the scar tissue on his wrists and gouging them back open. He groaned and forced himself to stand up, being bent weirdly as the chains stretched his arms to the limit.

He gathered one up with both hands and began to yank it up.

"Three… Two…"

With a tremendous tug and a loud grunt of effort, the chain tore away from the ground. The other snaked out with it, despite him not having touched it. He stumbled backwards, managing to stay on his feet even as the momentum wanted to take him down.

"_One._"

The lights filled the room once more and Klaus loomed out of the fading darkness, coming to a halt several feet away from him.

"Damon…"

He looked around quickly, spotting an open door past Klaus' shoulder and the solid thing he had walked into earlier. It was a small dresser unit, with remnants of a shattered vase littering the floor around it.

Damon levelled a hand under it and launched it in Klaus' direction with all the strength he could muster and took off running as quick as he could towards the open door as it sailed in the hybrid's direction.

It provided a distraction for him to slip past without Klaus trying to grab him, but as he passed the threshold of the door, he heard a loud splintering sound, briefly looking back to see Klaus lowering a hand as large wood shards sprinkled to the floor.

Another door swung open at the end of the small, barren hallway he was running down and he instantly ran to it and shouldered it open. He didn't give a damn what was behind it – there could've been a pool of lava for all he cared – he just needed to get away from Klaus.

There was a dwindling staircase just below him and he had to grab onto the door frame to stop himself falling. He started to make his way down as Klaus' footsteps began to sound from behind him, but the chains snaking around his ankles caused him to slip and lose his footing.

He felt the imprint of every single stair on his back and stomach as he rolled down, feeling a sickening snap in one of his fingers as he put out a hand to try and stop himself. A warm, wet feeling blossomed up in his hairline when he finally crashed down to the bottom, blood dripping into his left eye.

Everything in front of him blurred and he felt sick, but Damon forced himself to his feet as shadows began to whip and flicker at the top of the staircase. He couldn't make out much of the room he had landed into, but he spotted a shelf with a large space behind it not too far away.

The temperature dropped rapidly as he rushed over and took refuge there, taking a moment to gather his breath, trying his hardest not to wince at the throbbing pain in his hand. The footsteps eventually reached his level and a light was flicked on, bathing the room in a dim yellow glow.

Damon peered through the shelves as Klaus slowly made his way into the room, taking his time.

"Damon?" he called out to him softly.

He clamped a hand over his mouth to quieten the sound of his breathing, watching the other man like a hawk. _Don't turn around, don't turn around… _he mentally chanted_, don't do it._

"Why prolong the inevitable?" he asked in a sympathetic voice, "I always win," he added simply, for once there was no hint of gloating in his tone.

His fingers slid over the surface of the shelves as he strolled along—Damon had to hunch down, so they didn't brush against his hair. He came to a stop dead ahead of him, effectively trapping him.

"Don't you know I can smell you, Damon?" he wondered, shaking his head a little, "I can smell your blood." That last was tinged with a threatening growl.

Damon's breath was trapped in his throat. In a few seconds, Klaus would turn around and spot him. As quietly as he could, he gathered up the lengths of chains in his hands, holding one end in each and readying a long length like a garrote.

Inching slowly to his feet, he burst into a run and leapt towards Klaus, catching him with the chains as he turned in response to the noise. He wrapped the chains around his neck and his weight pulled them both down to the ground. The momentum allowed Damon to throw Klaus off him before he had a chance to retaliate.

He scrambled to his feet and ran down the expanse of the room, only being able to see as far as the light carried. Luckily, there was a boarded-up window leaking cracks of light into the room. He was in what looked like a basement, with shrouds of fabric covering stacks of boxes.

Nothing of consequence as he walked past, except for the multiple pairs of red eyes looming from the darkness. He squinted, seeing several gargoyles dotted around, and they were _moving_.

Stony hands outstretched and their wiry fingers snatched for him as he made his way through the room. His throat was grabbed in a crushing grip, just as the door behind him was violently flung open.

Klaus watched him with a slightly raised eyebrow as he headed slowly towards him. Damon grabbed hold of the gargoyle's arm and wrenched himself free from its grip, the stone arm disintegrating to dust as it let out an ungodly screech.

Heart hammering, he looked around for a way out. He spotted a door through the thicket of animated arms. Throwing his arms up to protect his face, he ran through the barrage of claws and kicked the door open. Ahead of him was a cramped wine cellar, maybe ten feet long.

The door just didn't seem to end. He rushed to the one ahead of him, trying to push it open, but to no avail. He clutched at the handle, or where he _thought_ the handle was—his fingers clutched at thin air.

"What the fuck?!"

He squinted downwards. He could just about make out a flat rectangle of metal with a tiny square hole in it. What kind of door didn't have a handle?!

Looking around, he spotted it atop of a filled wine rack. Klaus' shadow blanketed the light out from the doorway as he crossed the threshold. With a hard yank, Damon brought the wine rack crashing down to the floor.

Glass shattered and wine splashed up over him as it was crushed under the unit. The handle clattered as it rolled across the floor and bumped against the wall. Klaus crossed into the room, taking deliberately slow steps to taunt him.

Damon struggled to pick the handle up as the sound of cracking filled his ears when Klaus walked onto the wine rack. He grasped the cold metal, feeling his fingers go numb with just how cold it was.

"Give up now, darling and I'll kill you quickly."

His words chilled him to the bone, making him shudder and causing the handle to miss the hole and gouge into the wood around it.

"No chance," Damon shot back, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

As he attempted a second time to shove the handle into the door, the cracking of wood from behind him was getting louder and louder. Klaus' fingers dug into his shoulders and the sound of his snarling filled Damon's ears.

There was a sharp sting as his fangs nicked his neck. He struggled even harder as Klaus' fingers caught his hair in a vice grip and yanked his head back.

"No, get _off!_" The last was punctuated by his elbow hitting into Klaus' mouth. His fangs scraped his elbow, his grip faltering as he swore under his breath.

Damon took advantage to force himself forwards, finally getting the handle in the door and wrenching it open. Whipping around as he passed through, he slammed it shut with all his strength. He eyed a large grandfather clock next to the doorframe, going to the other side and shoving it down to the ground, with an almighty crash, as a makeshift barricade.

Slow, monotonous banging came from the other side of the door. Damon took a breath and tried to ignore it. He headed towards the only door in the cramped room – piled high with boxes and crammed-full bookshelves – and shouldered it open.

His foot tangled into the chains around his wrists and he fell through the air with a surprised yell, groaning in pain as he landed heavily on the ground, right on his broken finger. He swore as he got up and peered down a long, spanning hallway. Where the fuck _was_ he?

"_It's only a matter of time before I catch you, Damon_," Klaus' voice sang, directly into his mind as he walked down it slowly, "_You've no weapon, nowhere to run_," he added, chuckling.

"_Nowhere to _hide." That phrase was decidedly more ominous, making Damon's blood run cold.

An explosion and sound of splintering wood came from far behind him. Klaus had made it through the door—he knew he would. Damon sped off down the hallway, stopping in confusion when he came to an old elevator shaft, with the old-fashioned looking elevator stuck half-way up it.

Another hallway was shrouded completely in darkness. He didn't fancy his chances, and slipped through the gap in the elevator shaft, dropping down to the bottom. He crouched down as best he could in amidst the spikes of wood and metal sticking up from the floor.

Klaus' footsteps echoed in the hall above him. Damon was shivering all over as he tried to gather his thoughts, figure a way out, but he couldn't hold a train of thought that had any semblance.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…" Klaus' voice was a taunting purr as he strolled closer and closer, Damon swearing each step he took was magnified in his ears, "Come out, come out, wherever you are…"

It hung in the air, then everything stopped.

No footsteps, no voices. Nothing except the faint roar of wind from outside and Damon's strained breathing he was trying his hardest to keep quiet. He felt a lump forming in his throat that he tried to swallow back down.

The silence was turning into a deafening ring of white noise in his ears, and the thundering of his heart was becoming painful. Had he—

"Little kitty unhappy in his cage?"

Two footsteps thundered from above him as Klaus' hands hauled him up out of the shaft so fast Damon didn't even have time to react. His back was pressed against Klaus' solid chest; he struggled, his hands scrabbling to grab onto him to pull him off, but he was too strong.

His lips brushed against his ear as he purred, "No-one escapes me, Damon."

Then his fingers carded gently over his hair, moving it away from his neck. There was a soft hissing noise filling his ears, then white-hot pain flared up as Klaus sunk his fangs into his neck. His blood-curdling scream echoed painfully in his ears—

A hard smack against something solid jolted Damon awake with a gasp. He was struggling to catch his breath, becoming slowly aware of a dull throbbing in his arm. He looked around, realizing he'd hit it against his dresser in his sleep.

His dresser. He glanced around, looking slowly around the room, cataloging everything almost obsessively as he took long, deep breaths to calm himself. He was in his room, in Mystic Falls. He wasn't back in Florence, and Klaus wasn't here. He wasn't even in the same town. He was on course for Bolivia.

Belatedly, he became aware of a cold, slimy feeling and slickness around his legs. He flicked on the lamp beside him, looking down. He was tangled into his bed sheets and they were utterly soaked with cold sweat, and it was gathering on his skin and making him feel clammy.

He wiped a hand over his forehead, smearing thick rivulets across there. Then he froze, staying absolutely still, listening out for any sign that Giuseppe or Stefan had heard him, any tell-tale footsteps they were heading towards his room.

Luckily there weren't any, and his father hadn't burst in to shake him awake – was the old man even home? – so he must not have been screaming. But even if he had, Giuseppe had forbidden Stefan from engaging with him when he was like that, ever since he had accidentally lashed out in his sleep and gave Stefan a black eye.

(Only Stefan would've forgiven him so quickly for that.)

God, he was a fucking mess. Pushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes – it was getting long; he could do with a haircut – he threw the covers off him and got up. He thrust his arms through his dressing gown he'd picked up, feeling a slight sting as he tightened the robe around himself to warm up.

Feeling a sense of dread, he slowly rolled up the arm that had the stinging. There was a fresh gash there on his elbow, exactly where he had hit Klaus' fanged mouth in his dream.

"Shit…" he swore, louder than he meant to, into the silence of the room.

If that had been real, he dreaded to think that there could be any truth to the fact Klaus had been manipulating parts of his reality. No, not her, she had to be—

Urgently, he flung open his shirt drawer and tossed everything out until he found his hidden treasure, breathing a loud sigh of relief. He picked it up, as if it would break in his hands, smiling faintly as he looked at the picture. Solid proof.

It was of Rose and her newborn daughter after she had given birth in the hospital. They were both alive and safe, she wasn't dead and a phantom haunting him. She was alive, she was alive. He repeated the mantra in his head until the words started to blur together and become nonsense.

Rose was alive. Alive with a baby girl and, as it turned out, by pure chance she decided to move from England to Mystic Falls. Damon had no idea until he had bumped into her outside Angelina's diner pushing a baby stroller. Lisa, the little girl's name was, and they both lived not too far away from Fell's Church.

She had given up hunting vampires altogether after Florence happened. After Trevor was killed she was resolute Lisa would have one living breathing parent. He could've told her that moving to Mystic Falls was a bad idea – the place was vampire central – but he supposed vampires were usually low on the radar unless you came after them. All he could do was hope that, even though she had her feet firmly out of the pond, she took necessary precautions to protect them both.

Sighing heavily, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

"Damon?" Rose's bewildered voice answered, "It's three in the morning," she said, not unkindly.

Damon winced apologetically, looking at the bright LED letters of his clock with a pang of guilt. "Sorry, Rose." He licked his lips nervously. "I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked hesitantly.

To his surprise, Rose barked out a quiet laugh that had him smiling a little. "Are you kidding?" she asked incredulously, "I've got a baby, sleep is a thing of the past," she chuckled.

"I just managed to get her back down to sleep after a two-hour screaming fit," she said airily, "if only it was socially acceptable to drink at three in the morning," she joked.

"If needs must," he replied with a shrug. He decided to keep to himself the secret whiskey stash hidden in his underwear drawer, and the fact he was almost out, despite putting it there a week ago.

"Is everything all right?" Rose asked softly.

He was silent for a good five minutes. He heard her soft breathing through the phone, patiently waiting for him.

"I had a nightmare," he admitted after thoroughly chewing through his lower lip, "I just needed to see if you were still alive," a lump was forming in his throat and his eyes were burning, "it was bad, Rose," he got out, the words getting caught. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes.

"Oh, Damon…" she said with a pitying sigh.

But luckily that was all she gave him. She understood he wasn't the type to want a constant pity party, understood that telling him to see a therapist wouldn't do any good – not the least because he didn't have a hundred and fifty dollars laying around to fling at one for an hour – and she understood when he didn't want to talk.

Instead she took his mind off it by delighting him with tales of her daughter's recent escapades and a congratulatory party that ended with one family member announcing their own pregnancy, another announcing they were gay, and Rose severely wishing they could've had alcohol by the time the punch-up started.

Even as relaxed as he felt when they eventually hung up at five in the morning after exchanging many a crazy family member story, Damon didn't attempt to go back to sleep.

* * *

Cold water splashed up into his stinging eyes as Damon flung his wet hands up. They were so dry with tiredness it was painful. Bedside him, the stove-top kettle began to reach boiling point, bubbling steam up into the kitchen. He groaned, rubbing his wet hands into his eyes for good measure, and turned the tap off, turning his attention to the stove-top.

He felt the prickling sensation down his back of someone watching him as he poured the boiling water into the coffee mug.

"Stefan, it's impolite to lurk," he sang, chastising him as he stirred the coffee granules.

Turning, his lips twitched in a smirk when he noticed Stefan hovering in the doorway. Eventually, he moved forwards.

"Everything all right?" he asked in concern, his brow furrowed.

"Fine, why wouldn't it be?" Damon shrugged, reaching for the sugar.

"You were having a nightmare again, weren't you?" Stefan guessed.

"So, what if I was?" Damon asked, shrugging as he dropped a teaspoon of sugar into the coffee and stirred it, "I'm a big boy, I'm fine," he added dismissively.

"Didn't sound fine," Stefan said, trying to catch his eye, but Damon didn't let him—so he had been crying out in his sleep, after all. "Who's Klaus?" he wondered.

Damon froze. And _talking_, rather loudly, apparently. He was about to pull up a lie, but it died in his throat when Stefan then added:

"And why are you sorry to Rose?"

The sudden jerk of his elbow knocked into the coffee mug. It slid off the countertop and shattered onto the floor, splashing the contents over both of their feet.

"Great," Damon snapped with a sigh, ignoring Stefan and grabbing a kitchen towel to clean it up with.

He bent down, starting to mop up the hot coffee. He then looked up at Stefan, mustering the sternest glare he could.

"Look, just shut up about it, all right," he ordered, momentarily pointing a finger at him, "You don't know what you're talking about," he added, shaking his head in disbelief. This was _not_ happening.

"Damon," Stefan began, but he waved him off.

A sharp pain bloomed up in his hand as he inadvertently put it down onto a large piece of the china mug. It gouged a slice straight through his hand, cutting right through the bandages he already wrapped there.

"Shit!" he swore loudly, watching as blood started to bubble up under the bandages and leak through the slice in them.

"Here, I'll help," Stefan offered, already bending down to help before Damon could say anything.

This was all getting too much; he was starting to feel crowded, closed in. He made a helpless, frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?!

"No, just go away!" he yelled harshly, not really realizing what he said until he caught sight of the hurt look on Stefan's face. Something in his chest hurt at the sight.

"Stefan, go on," Giuseppe's voice advised gently—great, just what Damon needed more people, more crowding, "I've got it," he added, shooing him away.

Reluctantly, Stefan stood up and left, trying to catch Damon's eye all the while. He didn't let him, slumping tiredly against the cabinets as Giuseppe walked over with a dustpan and brush.

"That's going to need stitches," he said, looking at the gouge in Damon's hand as he bent down to start cleaning the shattered mug.

"I can do it," Damon responded in a clipped voice, getting to his feet.

He headed to the medicine cabinet, pulling out the needle, thread and fresh bandages, as well as some tissues and a bottle of painkillers. Damon sat down at the nearby dining table, laying out the supplies and pulling off the ruined bandages.

His knuckles were caked with dried blood and the thin slices in his palm were still tender, not as deep as the fresh gouge there to need stitches, however. Damon tossed the bloody bandage on the table and set to threading the needle.

"Why didn't you take care of that last night?" Giuseppe wondered as he briefly looked over at him, shoveling the broken mug pieces into the trash can.

"I was tired," Damon said simply, "By the time I got home it was half-one in the morning," he explained. Not to mention the late-night phone call from Klaus hadn't done his mind any favors—it had been so scrambled by the time he went up to bed that he put his boxers in the trash can rather than his hamper.

Focusing on his hand, he relaxed the wounded one and poked the needle through, jumping only slightly. He took slow, deep breaths as he began to knit the skin together. With a heavy sigh, Giuseppe came to sit with him at the table.

"Son, this can't go on," he said, sounding drawn and tired.

Damon ignored him, averting his eyes and focused on finishing up his stitches. If his father was talking to him, he couldn't hear it. He sewed the last stitch and wrapped the wound up with the roll of fresh bandages. Just as he was about to reach for the painkillers, he heard:

"Stefan told me he heard you screaming in your sleep last night."

"Just how I like to greet the morning," Damon responded tersely. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Damon–"

As his hand reached out for his own, Damon backed away as quickly as he could, sliding the chair backwards. It looked too much like last night, when Klaus had caught hold of his hand and exposed one of his scars. It was all getting too much. Why was everyone trying to coddle him?

"Don't touch me!" he cried suddenly, glaring at him.

Giuseppe looked shocked at the sudden outburst. Damon gathered his breath, feeling his chest tightening.

"I need a drink," he declared, abruptly standing from the chair.

He headed over to the liquor cart in the parlor, while he felt Giuseppe's eyes on him as he followed him there. He ignored the scrutiny as he grabbed his decanter of bourbon and a glass.

"It's a bit early for that, isn't it?" he asked tentatively.

Damon shrugged, pouring the amber liquid into the glass like it was water. "Sun's down somewhere," he said dismissively.

As he began to sip at the alcohol, sighing in relief at the warmth burning down his throat, he noticed Giuseppe heading back towards the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow when a granola bar was eventually shoved into his field of vision.

"Obviously I can't stop you," Giuseppe began warily, "but at least don't do it on an empty stomach," he pleaded, with a well-intentioned flick of the granola bar.

Damon rolled his eyes but took it anyway. Refusing it would just lead to an argument he didn't have the energy to get into right now. He ripped the wrapper open and bit off a large chunk, choking it down under his father's gaze. It tasted slightly funny, kind of stale tasting.

Once he swallowed, he washed it down with a gulp of bourbon. Giuseppe sighed, but didn't make a comment. He alternated between the two until the bar was completely gone.

"By the way, had a midnight phone call from Klaus yesterday," he piped up.

Giuseppe frowned. "What did he want?" he asked cautiously.

"He knows where the other staff pieces are, and that we've got it," Damon explained, nervously looking down as a vein in Giuseppe's forehead began to throb.

"What? How?" he asked in surprise, letting out a scoff of disbelief, "Now we're going to have to screen everyone and check for the leak–"

"It was me," Damon cut in, ending the tirade before it could begin.

"Excuse me?" Giuseppe looked like Damon had just grown two extra heads.

"Turns out he was digging around in my head," he explained bluntly.

"You're not taking your vervain?" Giuseppe asked with a look of shock, "Damon–"

"It's not really the most important thing in my life right now, dad!" he exploded, perhaps unwarranted.

He sighed shortly, downing the rest of his alcohol. He poured some more, and Giuseppe cleared his throat. He looked to see him holding a small vial with a clear liquid in it.

Damon rolled his eyes and took it, drinking the vervain straight from the vial.

"Called me from the airport last night," he went on, "He's on his way to Bolivia," he relayed.

"What?"

"I know, he couldn't have done us a solid and gone for Australia first?" Damon asked with a scoff, "Least the stopover in Singapore would've bought us an extra day or two to figure something out," he added.

"I'll have to contact those with the pieces, tell them to get somewhere safe," Giuseppe sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Like it's gonna do any good?" Damon wondered incredulously, "He's just gon—"

He fell silent, noticing a look on Giuseppe's face. He was peering at something over his shoulder. Damon turned to view what he was looking at, finding Stefan standing there.

"Stefan," he smiled, "Didn't we just have a conversation about lurking?" he teased when he walked closer.

There was a weird tension between them as Stefan walked up to him, but neither acted on it. Stefan just tossed his phone back and forth between his hands, before looking up at him.

"I was just making lunch plans with Elena, she was wondering if you wanted to come with us," he offered.

"She wants me to third wheel on your date?" Damon asked with a frown.

"Bonnie and Caroline are coming too," Stefan corrected.

"Oh," Damon nodded, then he pulled a face. He really didn't want to spend an afternoon with teenagers. Not that there was anything wrong with them, he just didn't have much in common with Caroline or Bonnie. "Well, I don't know, I'm pretty busy with work and–"

"He'll be available," Giuseppe cut in quickly.

As Stefan looked down at his phone, Damon shot him a glare that could've burned the house down.

"It'll do you good to get out," he continued, unperturbed, "Spend some time with your friends," he added, giving him a meaningful look.

"You said we needed to go over things," Damon reminded him, "Important things," he emphasized.

"That can wait till tomorrow," Giuseppe responded, waving him away, "I'm sure we can survive one day without you," he finished.

Damon narrowed his eyes. Of course the bastard was going to weasel out of his promise wherever possible. Fine, he could always drop by the headquarters and research more about Klaus himself later.

"Fine," he gave over, turning to Stefan, "I'll be there," he said, watching him shoot him a tiny smile, "But I need to shower, I'll meet you there," he added. He still felt clammy and gross from his abrupt wake-up this morning.

"Great, I'll let her know," Stefan said, looking pleased, "We'll just be at the Grille, for about one," he explained.

He left the room, patting Damon on the shoulder.

"Why did you that?" Damon asked as he rounded on his father, "Now you've condemned me to a day of mindless teenage drivel," he said accusingly.

"Good," Giuseppe said in a blasé manner, "You could do without thinking about Klaus or vampires for a day or two," he added.

Damon just rolled his eyes. "That'll be difficult knowing he's on his way to getting the staff pieces he needs," he said with certainty. How was he supposed to sit and chew the fat with Stefan and Elena when _that_ was going down?

"I'll send reinforcements," Giuseppe said, although he looked as if he knew it would be a feeble attempt, but nonetheless it was better than letting it happen, "Knowing Klaus, he'll probably have people helping him," he added.

"But you're benched for the next few days," he continued, playing every bit the authoritarian as he pointed a finger at him, "Go out with some friends, make sure you eat dinner every day, I don't know," he listed, flapping his hand mindlessly.

"But no vampires," he insisted.

"Dad–" Damon tried to protest, but Giuseppe made a noise and held up a hand, not hearing it.

The final straw was when he took the glass of bourbon with him, leaving the room without a backward glance. Damon sighed, mildly infuriated, rubbing a hand over his brow.

"Prick," he swore into the empty room.

He would rather be doing _anything_ else, but he _did_ effectively make a promise, admittedly that his father had roped him into. Fuck him. What good would 'benching him' do? Other than make him bored out of his mind.

He headed upstairs to his ensuite bathroom, turning on the hot water. He stripped down and grabbed a loofah, stepping under the hot spray with a comforted sigh.

He stood there and let it warm him up for a solid five minutes, the aching in his muscles easing up exponentially, then focused on wiping off all the sweat soaked into him.

He tried his hardest not to hyper-focus on his scars whenever one appeared in his field of vision, but he found himself just staring aimlessly at one on his thigh, five tiny scratch marks reddening under the heat of the shower.

_"You should save your strength."_

_He winced briefly at the stinging feeling on his thigh as Klaus' nails broke through the skin in his possessive grip. He felt his eyes drooping as his head was gently tilted back, with Klaus' fangs brushing his neck. There was pressure there, but not hard enough to break the skin._

_His lips trailed up to his chin, then over, dangerously close to his own. Damon stared up at him as he brought his eyes level with him—they were two golden pinpricks among a sea of black, framed by dark veins._

_"You'll need it," he said, bringing a hand up to stroke over his hair, and when he spoke Damon could feel his breath over his lips, "I'm _far_ from done with you, yet," he promised, those golden eyes glinting in the fire-light around them._

_"Did you have to tie me up?" Damon wondered, huffing out a barely-there laugh as he looked up at the ropes around his wrist, tying him to the headboard; there were ropes around his thighs too, keeping his legs slightly apart._

_"I like you tied up," he said simply, chuckling slightly, "Like a little present I can unwrap," he purred appreciatively, looking him up and down._

_He felt himself burn under the scrutinizing, predatory gaze. He felt the rope around one of his thighs go completely slack as Klaus' nails cut through it effortlessly._

_"Slowly," he added, pulling the cut rope away from his thigh as if it _was _the silk ribbon of a present box._

_Damon let himself relax as his thighs were gently nudged apart and deceptively soft kisses trailed down his neck, his chest, his stomach, then lower, and lower—_

He continued to stare at the scar as the hot water pelted down around him, wondering if the phantom pain would ever stop.

* * *

How he wished he could turn water to alcohol in his mouth. Damon had been sat at the Grille for all of twenty minutes and was bored stiff. He hated being idle, he would much rather be doing something, something that involved him using his hands, rather than listening to gossip.

He really didn't care about Layla and Jeff's bust-up in the school cafeteria, or about how Mr. Tanner was 'such a douche' – although he was silently proud to hear about Stefan schooling the dickhead on history dates – or about Tyler and Vicki Donovan splitting up for the last, no seriously, the _last_, time.

He leaned in across the booth towards Stefan, nudging him in the side to get his attention.

"Is this all you guys talk about?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth as Caroline, Bonnie and Elena nattered on, low enough they couldn't hear him.

Stefan just gave him a look that said, 'yeah, pretty much'. Damon raised his eyebrows in surprise, slinking back to his seat.

"So, have you guys got your outfits picked out for the winter formal yet?" Caroline asked excitedly, looking around at everyone bar Damon.

"Nothing yet," Elena said with a shrug, taking a sip from her milkshake.

"Elena! Seriously!" Caroline cried indignantly, leaning forwards in her seat. "It's in three weeks!" she added in exasperation.

Damon snorted a laugh into his water glass, choking some down. Caroline narrowed his eyes at him, while Bonnie was grinning from beside her, sensing an on-coming rant.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to go since I was so behind with History work," Elena explained with a dismissive shrug, "I'll see if Jenna has something I can borrow," she decided.

"No offense to Jenna, who I love dearly," Caroline reached out and squeezed Elena's hand, "her wardrobe is two words," she said knowingly, "_Retro, chic_," she enunciated with a serious nod.

Elena just pulled a face and reached into the peanut bowl, flicking one at Caroline's face while trying not to grin.

Unperturbed, Caroline barreled on: "Maybe perfect for the 80's decade dance next spring, but not for a winter formal," she insisted, "All those bright colors, _erugh!_" she said with an over-dramatic grimace and shudder.

Damon cupped a hand over his mouth and mimicked a siren-sound. The table next to them gave him a bewildered look.

"Uh-oh, the fashion police have arrived," he teased in a sing-song voice.

Caroline grinned, playfully kicking him under the table. Damon smiled back, bending down to rub his ankle.

"I'll probably wear the same thing I wore to the fall one," Bonnie piped up, sounding about as bored as Damon felt.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something seemed strange with Bonnie. He knew the signs of spacing out all too well, being he did it himself. It didn't feel right to ask, but he still felt unease bubbling in his gut when he looked at her. She also barely met his eyes, even when talking to Stefan, she would angle her head to not accidentally look at him too.

Caroline shook her head, her face twisting into a displeased expression. "Nu-uh, the colors will be all wrong!"

"Care…" But Bonnie was grinning, even as she shook her head and tried to look annoyed.

"We should all get our colors done so we match," she cried, like she had just had a huge epiphany, reaching out to take Bonnie and Elena's hands, "We can make a whole day out of it and go buy our outfits together!" she said excitedly, grinning wildly.

Elena was looking like she was trying not to laugh. Bonnie pulled a face of approval.

"I assume Stefan can just make his tie match yours, Elena?" Caroline wondered, looking at Stefan expectantly.

"I guess I will be," he chuckled.

"Pfft," Damon scoffed, "And Salvatore men pride themselves on having a backbone," he said, playfully ribbing Stefan in the side.

"You're doing our ancestors a disservice, little brother," he continued, mockingly shaking his head in disappointment. Stefan, straight-faced, flung a small handful of peanuts at him.

Damon was surprised at the genuine laughter bursting out from his mouth. At any rate, it pleased Stefan, who grinned at him.

"Did you want to come, Damon?" Bonnie asked, meeting his eyes for perhaps the first time since he'd arrived, "It falls at the same time as one of the Lockwood's fundraisers, so they'll be opening it to anyone, not just school students," she explained.

Damon pulled a face. "Hang out with a bunch of rowdy teenagers for the night? While I'm in my thirties? And when there's no alcohol?" he listed incredulously.

"I'd rather poke my eyes out," he chuckled.

_"I'd rather poke my eyes out," he spat defiantly up at him, backing up as far as he was able before his back hit against the wall._

_Klaus chuckled from above him. "And they are very pretty eyes," he purred appreciatively, smirking._

_A hand reached down for him. Damon slapped it away petulantly. Klaus pinched his brow, looking frustrated._

_"Surely you must see this foolish crusade of yours is making you ill?" he said gently, raising an eyebrow, "I'm sure your fever will drive you to delirium if it carries on," he added in concern; Damon knew him well enough by now to know it was all hollow._

_"Then get me a fucking Doctor!" Damon yelled, the room spinning briefly as his head continued to pound. Groaning, he slumped back and pressed a hand there, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. _

_"You killed the only Doctor here," Klaus pointed out knowingly, shaking his head with an incredulous look, "Murray?" he reminded him._

_Damon swallowed hard as he remembered decapitating a hulking beast of a vampire a few days ago—just his luck. "Oops," he said with an apologetic wince, not meaning it._

_A pained whimper heaved from his mouth at the insistent aching in his stomach. He was burning up all over, sweaty and in agony. His limbs felt heavy, his throat was clogged and his nose was raw._

_Klaus kneeled down to his eye level with a deceptively worried look on his face. Damon looked away stubbornly. He 'tutted' softly and tucked a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at him._

_"For someone who fights so hard to live, you would really rather die than accept my help?" he wondered in disbelief, looking at him like he genuinely didn't know what to make of it—it was somewhere between disbelief, exasperation and incredulity._

_"Well, I can't have that."_

_There was a short pause, then the finger under Damon's chin became a crushing grip on his neck, holding his face up. Before he could comprehend what was going on, Klaus forced his wrist to his mouth. He struggled against it when the iron taste hit his lips, grabbing his arm and attempting to tug it away. When that failed, he tried in vain to keep his mouth closed to prevent any more falling through._

_But Klaus was using his other hand to carefully pry his jaw open, so as to not hurt him. He felt his tense muscles screaming from the pulling and eventually conceded. He began to drink._

_"There's a good boy, come on," he coaxed him, his free hand going behind his head to steady him._

_It felt a strangely intimate thing; neither of them broke eye contact and, ever-so-slowly, Klaus was rubbing his thumb over the back of Damon's head, encouragingly stroking his hair. As more blood flowed into his system, Damon felt the pains in his stomach easing up and the pressure in his head subside a little._

_When Klaus released him, he lurched forwards and coughed what he didn't swallow up onto the floor between them. He couldn't stomach the thought of having Klaus' blood in his system—he was having to fight vampires! What if one of them killed him?_

_A sharp sigh came from Klaus' mouth, then he grabbed Damon's face and forced him to meet his eyes, a stark contrast to the softness of moments ago. His eyes also looked hard as steel._

_"If you're that eager to meet death, I'm sure one of my vampires would love to introduce you," he said with a humorless chuckle._

_With a smile, he released him. Damon caught his breath as he sagged against the wall, cuffing his sleeve and wiping the tacky blood from his lips. _

_"Leila's dead," a voice announced._

_Damon looked up to see another vampire standing there, just as Klaus rose to his full height with a derisive snort._

_"Never thought she would've lasted this long," he said in surprise, his eyebrows raising a little, "Cocky, arrogant thing," he added, with a disapproving edge to his voice._

_"Isaac's itching for another fight," the other vampire informed him, "He wants him," he said, pointing down at Damon with a predatory smirk._

_"I'm flattered," he shot back dryly, "Tell him he's not my type," he added, forcing a smile in his direction._

_Klaus chuckled at his ire. "He'll have to make do with one of the others, I'm afraid," he said with false pity, "Damon needs rest," he explained._

_Then his eyes glinted with something that made Damon's blood heat up. He could've sworn he saw Klaus' tongue run across his lower lip, but it was too quick to be sure. "Not that you'll be getting much of it," he added with a wicked smirk._

_"Take him up to my room," he addressed the other vampire, moving off and patting him on the shoulder._

_The room swam around him again as he felt his aching body being roughly hauled to his feet by the other vampire's hands, his feet dragging on the floor as he walked him along._

"Damon?" Caroline's voice and a light slap broke him from his thoughts.

"Huh?" He looked up to see all eyes on him.

He looked around to where Caroline did, seeing Vicki behind him. She was looking down at him and held a pitcher of water in his hand.

"Need a refill?" she asked, despite the polite smile, it clearly wasn't the first time she'd asked.

"Oh, yeah," he nodded, pushing his water glass towards her, "Thanks," he added quickly, remembering his manners.

She took it and refilled it. When she put it back down, Damon snatched it and gulped it down quickly, hoping to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.

Without comment, Vicki poured him another refill.

"Matt's in the kitchen today, guys," she informed them as she reached across the table for Bonnie's glass she held out to her, "So any extra fries you want are on him," she said with a smile, "and I might even be able to wrangle your burgers for free if Darren's feeling generous," she said, lowering her voice so the nearby tables didn't hear.

Stefan clapped his hands together, grinning. "Great!"

Vicki left after they ordered – he ordered a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, Stefan got vegetarian burger with ketchup, Caroline had a shrimp salad, Elena got another milkshake and a small sandwich, Bonnie had a turkey burger – and Damon tried in vain to pay attention to whatever turn the conversation had taken, but he couldn't focus properly.

He tried to eat his food when it arrived but couldn't. Despite it looking _great_ – it was literally the same thing he got from Angelina's, minus the sesame bun – and his stomach growling in hunger, every bite he attempted to eat just tasted stale in his mouth, either turned sour on the way down or churned uncomfortably in his stomach.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Stefan watching him in concern as he pushed the plate away from him. He rubbed his temple, hearing the talking come back into his hearing like tuning up an old radio with static.

"…and Mrs. Lockwood is letting me be head organizer for the whole event!" Caroline was saying excitedly.

Elena raised her eyebrow in surprise. "How did you swing _that?_"

_"How did you swing that?" Rose asked warily._

_Damon refused to answer, averting his eyes. She grabbed his shoulder and looked at him imploringly._

_"Damon, what did you agree to do?!" she demanded, looking briefly horrified._

_He swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter," he decided, shaking his head dismissively "You're getting out of here," he told her firmly._

_She started to shake her head in disbelief, tears shining in her eyes. "Damon–"_

_"Why her?!" Julian – the annoying prick – yelled petulantly, looking like he was seconds away from _pouting_, "We've all been locked up here too! It's not fair!" he cried._

_"She's pregnant, in case you missed it, dumbass," Damon sniped back with a growl._

_He didn't have the patience for this. The kid had been whining nonstop for weeks but did nothing. How Klaus hadn't just killed him on the spot, he had no idea. The man had the patience of a saint when it suited him._

_Rose looked weeks away from dropping her child and he refused to let a baby be exposed to this sick game they were all trapped in. It wouldn't be safe here for it. He didn't think any of the vampires actually would harm a _newborn_ but he wasn't taking any chances. Not to mention it put Rose back as fair game, and she would be in no condition to fight; she looked worn and emaciated, her cheeks sunken and hollow._

_Damon had been sharing whatever pieces of food he managed to get for himself with her, or sometimes giving it to her entirely, but it wasn't enough. She needed to get out of here and get urgent medical care. The chance for his own freedom would come, he just had to be patient and wait it out. A few more weeks couldn't do him any more harm._

_Julian's nonsensical whining was still going, beginning to grate on his ears. He turned and leveled a warning glare at the caged young man._

_"And if you don't stop whining I'll stop waiting for Klaus to do it and rip your tongue out myself," he hissed coldly._

_"If he doesn't stop, I'll gladly hand you the pliers, darling," a familiar voice chuckled._

_Damon turned to see Klaus standing there, flanked by two other vampires._

_"Ready to go, love?" he asked Rose expectantly._

_He offered a hand to help her up, but she belligerently ignored it. Instead, Damon offered her an arm and she began inching up to her feet. She wobbled a little when she got to her full height, Damon having to steady her. She winced in pain, placing a hand to her rather prominent bump._

_He felt for her, the most out of everyone. She and her husband Trevor had been caged up for at least three weeks together before Damon had arrived, but Trevor had been killed a week or so ago. The agonized wail that came from Rose's mouth when Trevor's killer callously flung his corpse and decapitated head into the small room would haunt him until he died._

_(Damon had driven a stake so hard into that bastards chest that he broke through his breastbone when it had been his next fight.)_

_Klaus was a complete bastard, but not unreasonable. He made one vampire open his cage so he could go and console her, and he stayed curled up on the ground with her cocooned to his side until she managed to sob herself to sleep._

_"You're all going to pay for this," she swore, looking at the three vampires with venom in her dulled eyes._

_"And I'm going to burn in the fires of hell for all my misdeeds and sins," Klaus interrupted with an extremely bored look on his face, folding his arms, "I've been around a long time, darling, to try to give me a spiel I haven't heard of," he advised her._

_She turned to Damon and wrapped him in as tight a hug as she could, he had to go at a slightly strange angle to not squish her bump._

_"Thank you," she breathed into his ear, brimming with gratitude._

_"Get out of here," Damon encouraged, holding her at arm's length and rubbing them comfortingly, "You'd better name that kid after me for this," he said, pointing a finger at her._

_Despite the situation, Rose let out a merry laugh. "It's a girl," she informed him, "You can be the godfather," she offered._

_He smiled, the first genuine one since he had been locked up here and accepted the offer with a nod. _

_"How touching," Klaus drawled from beside them, making Damon stare at him with complete hatred._

_Reluctantly, Damon had to let go of Rose and trust that the vampires would actually escort her to the hospital – later, Klaus would admit he compelled them to do it – and refused to take his eyes off her until she disappeared from his view._

_Klaus was then right by his ear. "I never pegged you for the selfless type, Damon," he remarked, looking impressed._

_"There's a lot you don't know about me," Damon shrugged, "You just think you do," he added, giving him a forced smile._

_The other man huffed out a quiet laugh. "I guess I'll have to see how far you need to be pushed to sell the rest of this lot to slaughter, won't I?" he summarized, looking at the hunters still caged around them._

_"What is this? Some last man standing thing?" Damon asked in bewilderment._

_"I haven't decided yet," Klaus admitted, "It's quite interesting to watch you all though; in these sorts of situations, you really do learn what someone's capable of," he marveled, giving Damon a pointed look._

_When he looked down uncomfortably, remembering what he was inferring, he chuckled._

_Klaus then turned to Julian. "If you're so eager for your freedom, why don't you fight for it for a change?" he addressed him directly._

_He whistled and a vampire walked into the room, bringing up a key from his pocket and unlocking the cage. He grabbed Julian's arm roughly and hauled him out._

_"This is bullshit!" he spat, struggling against the other vampire's grip. He was just tugged to his feet and made to stand._

_"Because your father can't pay your way out of this one?" Klaus asked, sounding unimpressed, "I've seen the others do much more than you while you're content to lounge around stealing the fruits of their labor," he informed him, 'tsk'ing him softly like he was a little child._

_"Now it's your turn," he decided._

_"Fuck you!" Julian hollered back as he was dragged from the room._

_"You're not my type," Klaus responded smoothly, giving Damon a playful wink._

_He rolled his eyes._

_Klaus left the room along with the other vampire, the door swinging closed behind him with a loud clang. Damon huffed out a long, purposeful breath, looking around at the other hunters._

_"Five minutes of peace, at least, huh?"_

Damon felt bile rising in his throat. He shoved it down and got to his feet.

"I need something stronger," he declared as he made his way out of the booth.

"Damon–" Stefan called after him.

He just waved him off, heading towards the bar. Before he was out of earshot, he heard Caroline asking:

"What's up with him today?"

"_Today?_" Stefan repeated incredulously, "Caroline, he's been weird for weeks," he murmured worriedly.

Damon hopped up onto his regular barstool, quickly ordering a bourbon. His head was starting to ache painfully, his thoughts swimming around. It was making him feel nauseous.

"Excuse me? Damon?" an unfamiliar female voice asked.

He turned, taken aback when he saw a woman standing there that looked eerily close to Rose; same spiky bob haircut and similar leather jacket get up she often wore. If he didn't know any better, he would've said the woman was her twin, but she had a fully American accent, brown eyes instead of olive green, and looked a handspan shorter.

"Do I know you?" he asked, not unkindly.

"You _are_ Damon Salvatore?" she asked, completely ignoring his question.

Damon nodded, frowning a little as he watched the woman rifling in her pocket. He was a little on-edge, briefly thinking she was a vampire, but realized she most likely wouldn't be able to walk in the sun.

"I was told to give you this," she explained, pulling out a small manila envelope. "Klaus says you'll like it," she added with a smile.

Damon's eyes widened. It was only then he took in the dazed look on the woman's face, the heavily dilated pupils and glazed over eyes, and her insistently jabbing the large envelope at him. She had been compelled.

"Son of a–" He stopped himself short, looking at the woman who was giving him a bewildered tilt of the head. "He said you have to give this to me?" he asked warily.

"A friend of his did," she corrected, "Then said Klaus would want me to kill myself when I was done," she relayed.

"But I don't want to die," she said fearfully, her voice quivering as some semblance of her own psyche began to break through.

"Then I'll take it from you," Damon proposed, already edging his fingers towards it before the woman could raise her hand again, "You didn't give it to me, so you won't have to kill yourself," he explained.

"Really?" she asked, her eyes lighting up with relief.

"I guess," he said with a nervous look. Compulsion was a tricky thing, finding loopholes was even trickier.

"You suppose?!" she repeated, panicking.

"It's better than nothing!" he argued back – god, did he had to do _everything? _– and snatched the envelope from the woman's hand before she could move it.

He waited with bated breath, sighing quietly in relief as the woman blinked the daze out of her eyes. She frowned as she looked at him.

"What am I doing here?" she asked in confusion, "Who are you?" she wondered.

Opening and closing her mouth, she looked around the Grille. "I was just at a bridal dress fitting with my sister-in-law. How did I get here?" she asked, shaking her head as she walked off towards the entrance.

Luckily Damon could see the entrance from the bar, decided to carefully watch her as she crossed the busy road. He relaxed, feeling all the tension in his body bleed out when she made it across unscathed.

He turned his attention to the envelope, pulling it open and sliding the contents out onto his hand. He almost dropped them in shock when he realized just what he was looking at.

It was a picture of Sarah Fell, posed to look like Sleeping Beauty, both hands over her chest in a relaxed pose and her auburn hair fanned out on the ground. But unlike the fairytale, her neck was deeply slashed and crimson blood leaking all over the staff piece placed on her chest.

And in a macabre, sick touch, underneath there was also a postcard. It was in Klaus' handwriting. '_Wish you were here – K_' it read.

"Fuck," he swore, feeling a chill run down his back.

"Sir?" the bartender called.

Damon turned; his bourbon had been placed down on the bar.

"Uh, change of plans," he said with an apologetic look at the man, then a brief one back to the postcard and picture in his hands, "I don't need it," he added.

He rushed back to the booth before the bartender could say anything, hurriedly grabbing his jacket off the back of it and throwing it on. Elena frowned at him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Work emergency," he lied, forcing a smile in her direction, "it's been fun, though," he added, forcing another.

"I thought dad said you weren't needed?" Stefan wondered in confusion.

"Well, Logan's brain is the size of a peanut and Ric's too hung over to deal with him," Damon said quickly, shelling out his contribution to the lunch and leaving without a backward glance.

A flimsy excuse, but he didn't care, he needed to _go_. He wasn't sure if Klaus had one sent to Giuseppe or not, so he had to warn him. If he had found Sarah, that meant the others were in danger. He knew the man well enough to know he had helpers.

He dumped envelope and postcard in a nearby bin and shoved the photo into his jacket pocket as he rushed past, heading over to his car and climbing in. He slammed the door and pulled out his phone, sending a text to his father.

_So much for a day off. Klaus found the piece in Bolivia. I'll spare you the gory picture details._

* * *

The crumpled photo of Sarah Fell was laid out on Giuseppe's desk. It turned out Klaus _had_ in fact sent one to Giuseppe—it was of Jeffery Lockwood and his piece. Damon didn't air travel much, but he doubted it was possible to get to Romania from Bolivia in a decent amount of time. He had to have people helping him, _vampires_, he corrected himself, if the teeth marks in Jeffery's neck were anything to go by.

"This is troubling," Giuseppe muttered, rubbing his brow.

"No shit," Damon said humorlessly.

"That means he'll be here in no time," Giuseppe continued worriedly, "We need to increase security patrols around the staff," he decided, already going to the tannoy system over at his desk.

"Well I can–"

"No," he interrupted before Damon could say anything, making his face flame with indignation, "You're staying right here," he ordered, pointing a finger at him.

"Why?" Damon demanded, folding his arms.

"There's paperwork that needs doing," Giuseppe said simply.

Damon fumed silently. What was he, a ten-year-old on a time out? "We're vampire hunters not a corporate chain," he grumbled, annoyed. It was stupid they even did reports anyway.

Giuseppe raised an eyebrow. "You refuse to take time off; this is the least you can do," he said tiredly, "Besides, John's not here to go over inventory," he added.

"Stop fucking patronizing me, I'm not a child!" Damon exploded suddenly, feeling his coiled rage hitting boiling point.

"Why are you acting like this?" Giuseppe asked, looking exasperated.

_"Why are you acting like this?" Klaus asked with a bewildered chuckle, "I've done you a favor," he asked, having the nerve – the sheer fucking gall – to sound offended._

_"_Favor?!_" Damon repeated incredulously, "You're off your—"_

_"Hey!" one hunter called over to them both – Damon didn't care to know his name – "How come _he_ gets special treatment?" he asked, sticking a hand through the bars of his cage to fling it in his direction with an annoyed look._

_"I seem to remember it was because of him you even had food at all today, I'd show a little more gratitude," Klaus warned him in a tight voice._

_"If not to me, at least to Damon," he added, briefly placing a hand on his shoulder, "God knows he deserves something for having to put up with all of you whining," he finished with a roll of his eyes._

_Damon would never admit to the hybrid's face that he was right. All the 'we need to get out of here' was grating on him. 'We' being the operative word. He didn't know these people; he didn't owe them anything._

_Seth actually had the audacity to chew him out for, in his words, 'cozying up' to Klaus and getting a few days out of his cramped cage. He couldn't exactly spit to Seth that he was in Klaus' room, with him, so he shut up pretty quick._

_"Ray, shut up…" Lisa hissed out of the corner of her mouth._

_"Besides," Damon jumped as he felt Klaus' breath hot by his ear and his hand on his leg, "he'll be dead within the hour, mark my words," he whispered knowingly._

_Damon tried his hardest not to look rattled, but he was so exhausted he couldn't disguise the shudder that had the chains around his wrists rattle. _

_"You're sick," Damon said scathingly, shaking his head._

_"And you will be if you don't eat," Klaus reminded him, purposefully nudging him to get him to look down at the plate of food. _

_It did actually look really good, but Damon wasn't about to admit it._

_"But if you insist on acting like a child, I can always spoon feed you like one?" Klaus continued, giving him a stern look and raising his eyebrow._

_Leveling the most withering glare he could muster at the other man, Damon reluctantly started to eat the plate of food in front of him. But he still had to get the last word in:_

_"There's no spoon."_

"It's like you're on some mission to self-destruct!" he continued, his voice rising.

"I went through Hell in Florence!" Damon yelled back, angrily yanking the table upright with a loud thud, the contents scattering everywhere, "And the only person I can talk to about it is the person that put me there!"

That was what it boiled down to in the end. Even if he had the money to talk to a therapist, he could only go so far; with Rose he could only tell her the bare minimum; Stefan couldn't know any of this; and his father just wouldn't understand. He would probably disown him or look at him in disgust if he knew what he did and what he felt.

"I'm sure that would fuck anyone up," he finished, his voice shaking from his anger.

He stormed out of the room before Giuseppe had a retort. On the way down to the file room, he heard him calling some other hunter's up on the tannoy system. He bumped into – quite literally – Rayna as he flung the door open. She was just on her way out.

"Damon, hey," she greeted him with a smile, "I thought you wouldn't be caught dead down here?" she teased.

Damon just shrugged. "Been benched," he said pathetically, letting his bitterness color his voice.

He crossed into the room, coughing back the tickling in his throat as the dust wafted up his nostrils. He shrugged off his jacket, turning towards Rayna when he heard her wince.

"Ouch," she said, looking at the bitemark he had gotten from Marissa, "They got you there," she added sympathetically.

"It's not as bad as it seems," he shrugged.

_"It's not as bad as it seems," Klaus whispered reassuringly, his weight heavy on the back of Damon's thighs._

_"It doesn't have to hurt," he went on, leaning down blanket his full weight over Damon to pin him in place, "You just need to relax."_

_Damon jumped as he felt Klaus' lips on the back of his neck, moving the hair away to softly kiss him. He hated this, hated feeling so vulnerable. He let out a quiet gasp as Klaus' fingers slid smoothly into his hair, tugging his head back so his naked upper body was lifted off the bed. He pressed his forearms down onto the mattress to steady himself._

_"Relax." _

_He felt the warmth of Klaus' lips on his skin, warm like one of them had a fever, then a sharp sting as his fangs broke into the skin. He grit his teeth and tried not to tense up. The feeling of his blood being drawn out wasn't as uncomfortable as Damon thought it would be, his body was flushing with heat and his muscles were relaxing of his own will._

_His thoughts were starting to jumble into an uncoherent mess, to the point where he couldn't think anymore, only feel. Feel the blood flowing through him; the warm pressure of Klaus' free arm coming to wrap around his chest; the pressure of his back cocooned into the other man's chest._

_Grasping onto Klaus' arm, Damon was desperate to try and ground himself to something; it felt weird, like he was floating higher and higher._

_"Fuck…" It slipped out of his mouth, barely audible to his own ears over the sound of his heart throbbing in his ears. There was growing pleasure coiling in his abdomen—he was too far gone to care._

_He felt Klaus tugging him higher off the bed, growling lowly in his throat as he continued to drink from him. The hand in his hair slid around the front of his neck to grip it, causing black spots to dance at the edge of Damon's eyes._

_He was starting to get light-headed as more and more blood was drawn out, and the pressure around his throat tightened each time he tried to take a breath. He writhed around as the coil in his abdomen was becoming unbearable. Then something gave inside him—_

_Molten rainbow lights exploded in front of him and he felt his body go completely limp, held up completely by Klaus' grip. He let out a quiet wince as his fangs slid out of his neck, shuddering as he ran his tongue ran over the hyper-sensitive marks._

_The softness of the bedcovers pressed comfortingly up against the side of his face as he collapsed forwards, trying to catch his breath._

_Blood was dripping over his neck from Klaus' lips as he leaned over him, whispering something in his ear that he couldn't make out, and he could've sworn his boxers felt sticky, but he couldn't be sure._

When Damon walked into the cramped quarters, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw the piles of paperwork, and loose-leaf sheets strewn across the tiny desk lit by a small table lamp.

"That motherfucker," he said unceremoniously, flopping down at the desk.

He tried his hardest to focus on the paperwork – it was _something_, he supposed – but a few reports in and his eyes were burning from strain and his hand was already cramping. He needed something to break the monotony, and found it when he came across a file flung across the desk. It was labelled 'Klaus Mikaelson – potential threat'.

Abandoning the reports, he opened it and peered at the contents inside. There was only a single sheet of paper, briefly detailing the possibility Klaus wasn't a normal vampire and rumors he was born of a werewolf bloodline. Old, outdated information it seemed, especially if the grainy, black and white picture of Klaus tied to a chair was anything to go by—he had one of those mop hair cuts from the seventies!

There was also a little cassette tape duct taped to the inside of the file. He picked it off and looked around the room. They clearly never threw anything away down here, as there was an old TV set, one of those large, clunky ones, and a VHS player.

Damon strolled over to it, blowing and wiping off thick layers of dust. He pressed the button on the TV, pleasantly surprised when it spluttered to life. He slid the cassette into the VHS tape and leaned back against the desk, watching with interest as a black and white picture flickered onto the screen.

He spotted throughout the constant spots blooming over the film, Klaus tied to a chair and being accosted by a man with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Even with the bad quality, Damon recognized his great-great-grandpa Salvatore. Just how long _had_ this headquarters been operational?

The even more pressing question, how had they managed to catch Klaus Mikaelson of all vampires? Even if he hadn't broken his curse back then, he was still over a thousand years old. Perhaps he did it to play a game? Damon knew full well the extents he would go to when looking for some entertainment.

"Old home movie, Damon?" a teasing voice asked him.

He looked to the voice, acknowledging Kara with a small smile and a nod as she went passed him to grab something from the columns of stacked files. "Not quite."

"Old security film of Klaus Mikaelson," he revealed, "they caught him at some point back in the seventies," he added in surprise.

"What?" she asked in shock, "Seriously?" she added, looking like she thought he was pulling her leg.

He just nodded, motioning towards the film. She leaned in, squinting a little. She made a noise of surprise when she made out Klaus in the film.

"Honestly, I thought he was a myth," she murmured, giving the TV another surprised double-take.

She then left the room, leaving Damon alone. He reached forwards and turned the volume dial up to where he could hear the voices on the tape.

"They're like animals, you keep them alive and bleed them," great-great grandpa Salvatore was saying, but Damon couldn't see who he was talking to, "He'll provide information," he continued, turning to Klaus.

Klaus leaned back in his chair, looking perfectly calm and not the least bit bothered about being trussed up in a hunter's headquarters. "On what, pray tell?" he asked in a charming voice.

"Every single unholy creature like yourself that you know," great-great-grandpa Salvatore spat in disgust.

"Well, there's no creature quite like me," Klaus said with a dangerous glint to his eyes that Damon could make out even in the bad quality footage, "And I would love to," he added with a brief smile.

"But we're not typically a social species," he went on, a mock-apologetic look on his face, "I keep to myself, as do many," he finished, shrugging.

When great-great grandpa Salvatore started spewing out the usual anti-vampire rhetoric in Klaus' face that Damon had never been partial to – not to mention half of it sounded ridiculous when saying it out loud – he fast forward the tape, stopping it when he came to something that looked interesting.

It was timestamped from a few weeks later to the first recording Damon had been looking at. Klaus was slumped forwards in the chair, unresponsive. Damon could hear his heavy breathing from the speakers, it sounded exaggerated. He also looked _wet_, and he didn't think vampires sweated that much to look drenched form head to toe.

"Foolish of you to think I'm staying," Klaus said after letting out a heavy breath.

Damon watched as great-great grandpa Salvatore walked closer to Klaus, bloodied weapon in hand. Klaus reared up, his vampire visage showing, and the shock sent great-great grandpa Salvatore tripping backwards and crashing to the floor.

The cigarette dropped from his mouth and rolled onto the floor, still-lit. Klaus ripped off the restraints with ease, getting up with a malicious laugh.

"Did you actually think this pathetic attempt at a jail cell could hold me?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Damon watched as a trail of fire began to snake from the cigarette, burning a line through the floor and heading straight for the large boiler that Damon could see just at the edge of the frame.

His mind was screaming at him to turn it off, before the sight of the fire could drag up the unpleasant memories hidden away in his brain, but he wasn't quick enough and watched it, blankly, as his own thoughts overwhelmed him.

_One of Klaus' lackeys stumbled backwards with a pained cry as he began to rapidly desiccate, a stake sticking out of his chest that he was desperately trying to pull out as he continued to wither._

_Damon stood up out of his cage, stretching out the large kink in his back as he stared at the vampire's shocked expression. Blood was trickling from the side of his mouth as he scrabbled to pull the weapon out._

_With a wolfish grin, he reached forwards and yanked the stake out, using his foot for leverage. The vampire tumbled backwards, careening towards the wall behind him. His legs gave up, completely crumpling underneath him._

_He collapsed to the ground, straight into the candlestick. It fell to the floor with a resounding clang, some still-lit candles rolling away. One caught onto the heavy, velvet curtains blocking out all the light._

_The fire leeched upwards and a horrifying screech came from one of the cages as the hunter inside was caught in the rapidly growing flame. He jerked in the cramped confines of the cage and tried to move, twist, get away, to extinguish the fire growing over him, but it was too fast._

_"Seth!"_

_Tearing his eyes away, Damon clutched hold of the bloody stake in his hand and made for the door, shouldering it open as heat began to swarm his back as the flames got fiercer and higher, crawling up to the ceiling._

_"Don't leave us here!" a frantic voice cried._

_He halted in the doorway to see a red-headed woman outstretching her hand with a desperate look on her face. All the hunters had it, starting to yell and plead with him. Damon looked around—the vampire with the keys had begun to catch fire, the amber flames spreading right over his pockets. There was nothing he could do._

_A strange trance came over him as he watched the fire consume everything in its destructive path. The hunter's cries were becoming drowned out over the whirring in his ears and the crackling of the flames._

_Smoke slithering into his throat choked him and blanketed his lungs. He had to get out, or else he would never get the chance again. He crossed over the threshold of the room as it caught completely ablaze._

_The hunters were curling up meekly in their cages to try and shield themselves, some were still yelling and begging for Damon to help them. The beams holding the ceiling up were completely rotten with embers, beginning to creak precariously._

_Damon leapt backwards as one crashed thunderously down onto the floor in front of him, barring him from entering the room. There wasn't anything he could do; he steeled himself and turned away from the panicked cries of the trapped._

_Black smoke began to billow forth from the room as he sprinted off down the hallway, the sounds of the screams getting further and further away._

_Instead of them, Klaus' own voice began to echo in his mind: 'I guess I'll have to see how far you need to be pushed to sell the rest of this lot to slaughter, won't I?'_

The loud explosion on-screen rendered the footage into static, white noise screeching in the quiet room as Damon felt a lump forming in his throat.

He shoved it down. He didn't know those people, not really, and he did what he had to do to survive. That was the end of it. He was willing to bet any one of them would've done the same thing, anyway.

His curiosity satiated, Damon switched off the TV and forced himself back to the desk. He picked up a pen and, at a snail's pace, resumed the paperwork his Dad wanted him to finish. The sooner he got it done, he supposed, the sooner he could disappear to the Grille and meet up with Ric for a drink.

As he worked through report after report, he tried to push out the encroaching thoughts of blood and fire, high-pitched death-screams and guttural yells of agony… he felt his knuckles tensing around the pen, going white as he continued to write, pressing through the paper so hard it tore a little.

* * *

"Code red, we got a code red!"

The frantic yelling and thundering footsteps forced Damon's eyes open, made him start in his seat. He blinked heavily, looking around. His pen had trailed off mid-word, he must've drifted off.

More footsteps rumbled past and Damon looked towards the noise, seeing several hunters running past the room. Curious, he got up and followed them. They were heading towards the entrance room.

When he got there, he saw three hunters crowding around a sobbing woman. A man was with her, perhaps her boyfriend. He had a protective arm around her, rubbing her arm comfortingly. As Damon got closer, he heard her voice shaking.

"His face was like a–"

"It's going to be all right now, okay?" one of the hunters said reassuringly.

Damon's stomach dropped when he moved around him and the woman came into his eyeline.

"Bonnie?" he asked in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly.

She frowned, looking up in confusion. Her eyes widened when she noticed him standing there.

"_Damon?_" she said incredulously, her frown increasing, "What's going on?" she asked in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering.

"Salvatore, you know this girl?" the hunter with her and the man asked as he walked closer.

"Yeah, she's one of my brother's friends," Damon said lowly, not taking his eyes off of Bonnie.

"Well, you can handle it then," he decided, clapping him on the shoulder, "Boss is out on recon, so I need to go head up the patrol with the staff," he explained.

Damon just nodded, waved him off and went over to Bonnie and her male friend. He didn't recognize him, maybe a boyfriend she was keeping secret? Her brother? He didn't know much about her family.

"Are you both all right?" he asked the two of them in concern.

Bonnie continued to sob, bunching her sleeves up around her hands and dabbing at her soaking eyes. "What's happening, Damon?" she asked fearfully.

"I can't really explain right now," he said apologetically, reaching out to comfortingly rub her arm. "But I will, all right?" he promised.

Oh hell, he spotted blood staining the collar of her shirt and her hands. How was he going to explain that one? There were only so many animal attacks Liz and Logan could spin before people started getting suspicious.

He turned around, motioning to a woman nearby. He wasn't going to get anything out of Bonnie while she was like this.

"Lily, can you take Bonnie to get a coffee?" he called over to the redhead, "Might calm her down?" he suggested.

"Sure," she said as she came over.

With a kind smile and a few murmured words, Bonnie began reluctantly following Lily towards an open door off to the right of them. She hesitantly looked back at him, and Damon nodded reassuringly. She eventually let Lily take her around the corner.

Damon let out a heavy sigh, pinching his brow. Of all the goddamned luck—at least it wasn't Stefan or Elena. He turned to the man she had been with.

"Did you see what did this?" he asked.

"Just came out of nowhere," the man said, letting out a shaky breath, shaking his head back and forth in utter disbelief, "There was blood _everywhere_," he went on, bringing a shaking hand to run up his hair.

"What did they look like?" Damon continued evenly.

"About your height, blond hair," the man started, pausing briefly as he looked up to the ceiling, then back to him, "British accent," he added, nodding to himself.

That made Damon's throat go dry. "He's back already?" he muttered to himself in surprise.

"Who?" the man asked.

"Never mind," Damon shrugged, waving him off, "You're certain?" he asked, refusing to acknowledge the nervous shudder to his voice.

"About what Klaus looked like?" the man said, eyes slightly wide with disbelief, "You don't forget someone that bites into people's necks for fun in a hurry," he added with a shudder.

Damon opened his mouth to ask another question, but then something dawned on him and he closed his mouth, feeling a sense of dread building within him.

"I didn't say what his name was," he pointed out.

The man frowned. "Didn't you?" he asked airily.

"No," Damon said, a hard edge to his voice as he shook his head, "No I didn't," he added firmly.

The man smiled, exposing two fangs as his eyes reddened and became laced with veins. Damon started forwards, only to have the vampire grab him tightly around the throat and crush the breath out of him.

"Let me guess," he coughed out, trying to pry the vampire's hand off, "Klaus says 'hi'," he guessed with a grimace.

The vampire nodded, his smile turning into a malicious grin.

He then flung Damon through the air. He collided with a nearby counter, his back throbbing painfully when he crashed to the floor. The commotion had another hunter running in and towards him with a concerned look.

"Damon!"

The hunter's body spasmed as his head was jerked in an unnatural motion, a sickening snap echoing through the room as his neck broke. He dropped to his knees, falling limp to the ground. Damon looked up at his killer, freezing as he saw Klaus standing there.

As he turned to his vampire, Damon scrambled to his feet to try and get away. The other vampire sped over and punched him in the jaw, sending him sprawling back down with throbbing pain in his mouth.

He swore under his breath through gritted teeth as the vampire seized his hair, yanking his head up. Shocks of pain were shooting up into his scalp; reflexively, Damon's hands shot up to try and pull him off.

"Be careful, Ryan," Klaus warned the other vampire, stepping closer to the pair of them, "If you break him, I'll kill you," he

"Don't worry about your precious little whore," Ryan waved him off dismissively, sneering down at him with a look that made Damon's stomach turn, "I was just going to bat him around a little," he said defensively, smirking.

He punctuated that last by delivering a hard punch to Damon's stomach that had him yelling out in pain, all the air yanked from his body. He shuddered the the man's grip.

Then he leered appreciatively at him. "Maybe have a go of him myself before–"

His grip on Damon's hair instantly released and gargled noise bubbled from his mouth. Damon looked up to see the vampire frozen in place, his eyes bulging with shock, Klaus' hand punched through his back with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Now, that's not a polite thing to say, is it?" he scolded him, thinly-veiled fury dancing in his eyes.

With an effortless tug, Ryan's heart came out in his closed fist, the vampire's desiccating body thudding to the floor.

"Even if he does scream like one," he added with a chuckle, looking down at him with a knowing wink.

Damon struggled to his feet, shaky and winded. He leaned against the countertop he had been thrown against – spying an undisturbed glass of water out of the corner of his eye – and accosted Klaus with a pained wince.

"How the hell are you here already?" he demanded.

"Caught my flight this morning," Klaus said with a small smile, walking closer to him, "I had no idea witches could transport objects via magic, did you?" he asked with a mock-dumbfounded look on his face.

He pulled the chain from around his neck and showed Damon the now completed amulet hanging there, then let it drop.

"It's quite something," he remarked, still smiling, "And those hunters," he began with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "They didn't fight at all," he whispered, now so close his clothes were brushing against Damon's.

He held his eye, while reaching for the glass of water behind him. Luckily he was angled so Klaus couldn't see it. He felt a tiny soar of relief when his hand closed around it—there was vervain pumped regularly into the water system here.

"They just surrendered," Klaus continued, sounding unimpressed, "Not like you, of course," he said admiringly, playfully flicking him under the chin.

"Go to hell," Damon growled, and he swung his free hand towards his smug face.

Klaus leaned back, catching his wrist with ease. He looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought you were better than that?" he wondered, looking disappointed.

"I am," Damon said bluntly, forcing a smile before he picked the glass up and smashed it towards the side of Klaus' head.

It smashed, and water sprayed over the pair of them. Klaus released Damon's wrist as he backed off, growling lowly in pain as his drenched skin began to sizzle and burn.

Damon darted off through the entrance room and shoved his way into the hallway, hoping he could get to the security patrol in time to warn them. The emergency alarms started blaring and wailing as hunters ran to get weapons, as vampires swarmed the place, some leaping through the windows.

He halted in his tracks, briefly transfixed at the sight. "Shit…"

"Klaus wants the staff!" a vampire was yelling as he stormed the place, flanked by others as the hunters bellowed orders to each other, "Anyone gets in your way, kill them!" he ordered, rushing off in a blur of air himself.

Damon ducked into the room as the chaos descended into complete pandemonium – sounds of yelling, snarling, screaming and ear-splitting alarms – and rushed over to the weapons cabinet, flinging it open to grab a crossbow and a wooden bullet gun.

"Damon Salvatore."

The crossbow slipped from his shaking fingers at the sound of the voice. He whirled towards it, brandishing the gun and holding it in warning at the vampire standing across from him.

"Klaus would pay a me pretty penny for you," he said with a pleased tone, "His little hunter pet," he added with a chuckle.

Wryly smiling in response, Damon fired a shot off into the vampire's leg. He buckled slightly, groaning in pain. He then leapt across the room, tackling the vampire to the floor. It was caught off guard and he managed to rain down several punches to its face before it threw him off, making him fly backwards into the wall.

Damon caught his breath, yanking up the cord from the lamp as the vampire went to grab him, snarling angrily as his fangs popped out of his mouth. He let him get hold of him, using it to his advantage to wind the cord around his neck, again and again.

The vampire choked, but Damon kept it up and pulled harder. His fingers scrabbled to pull his away, but he ignored it and managed to get one of his hands around the man's chin, narrowly avoiding the snapping fangs.

Wrenching the vampire's head to the side, its neck snapped and it fell limp to the floor, Damon collapsing on top of him with numb fingers. He got up, grabbed the gun and walked out of the room.

Bodies were littering the floor as the alarms continued to blare around them. Damon could hear explosions over the sound of the screaming and could smell smoke. The power had also been cut out, bathing everything in the crimson red of the emergency lights.

By the time he reached the room where the staff was being kept, his chest was heaving and his throat was burning with exertion. Those who had been in here were slaughtered mercilessly, drained of blood and tossed aside like nothing.

In a macabre touch, Damon saw some stabbed into the wall, ran through with their own weapons. He grimaced at the sight of one with a stake rammed down his throat.

He stepped past the corpses, flinging open the door to where the staff was, but it was gone, wrenched from the metal holdings fastening it to the inside of the small cabinet. His heart was in his throat, that meant that—

"Looking for something, Damon?" Klaus called.

He spun around to see him holding the staff with a victorious smile. Damon narrowed his eyes, letting out an infuriated sound, and went to shoot him with the gun. But he was grabbed from behind, both left and right, by two other vampires.

The gun slipped from his fingers when the vampire holding onto his right arm bit into his wrist, the shock and flaring pain causing him to drop it with a clatter. He wriggled as best he could, but their iron grip only tightened, forcing him to stay still.

Klaus walked over to him, that smile on his face seeming ever-present. "It's a shame your father isn't here to watch all his hard work protecting this to be for nothing," he remarked, sounding briefly disappointed.

His eyes lit up when he looked Damon up and down, flicking him under the chin with the tip of the staff. Damon jerked his head away in frustration.

"You'll have to do," he decided smugly.

"Hold him," he ordered in a tight voice, nodding to the two vampires.

Damon struggled in their grip but was punched hard in the stomach. He wheezed out a breath and felt the vampires forcing him to his knees, letting out a strangled groan when his kneecaps crushed into the ground. One vampire tugged his head up by his hair, and the other stretched one of his arms until he cried out, feeling it seconds away from popping out of the socket.

He shuddered as his body throbbing with pain, all the wind taken out of him. Any attempt to turn his head away from Klaus' smirking face was met with the vampire holding his hair twisting it until his fingers were on his scalp and yanking it back so hard tears burned in his eyes.

There were grunts of exertion and several expletives echoing as someone else was hauled into the room and forced to their knees in the same way Damon was. His suit was ripped and his face was almost a bloody, non-recognizable pulp.

Almost—it was Richard Lockwood.

"Mayor Lockwood," Klaus addressed the man with a smooth smile as the other man looked up at him with venom, "Perfect," he added, pleased.

"I seem to recall this whole staff charade was your idea," he continued.

Damon watched as Richard just slumped in the grip of the vampire's holding him, all the fight and energy gone from him.

Klaus was reaching into his shirt, ripping the amulet off the chain. It began to glow faintly, intensifying as it got closer to its setting on the staff. He wriggled around with a sense of urgency as Klaus clicked it into place, being rewarded with a punch to his face that had his nose cracking and dripping blood.

His head exploded with pain and he forced himself to watch, even through his blurring vision. Klaus had now grabbed Richard's face, pulling him up to meet his eyes as his werewolf claws dug into his chin.

"And what perfect irony," he noted, "The one who started it all, falling on his own metaphorical sword," he said with a humorless chuckle, giving the staff a little theatrical twirl until it was in his hand end-up.

It wasn't until he released Richard and caught it with both hands did Damon realize what he was about to do.

"No!"

His aimless cry fell on deaf ears and he was rooted in place by the vampires as he watched Klaus stab the staff through Richard's chest with a hiss of satisfaction. The man's mouth bulged open in a mixture of shock and pain, before his eyes fell closed.

His body fell to the ground as Klaus pulled out the blood-stained staff and the vampires released him. Damon felt the intensity of the vampire's grip holding him increase as Klaus gripped the staff and raised it above his head.

With a downward stab, Klaus slammed it straight through the ground with a resounding crash that echoed in Damon's ears, vibrated through his entire body, and jarred his bones. The foundations of the entire building seemed to shake as he was yanked unceremoniously off his feet, crumpling on the ground.

He heard two sickening cracks before white noise hummed in his ears. He blearily looked in the direction, seeing the vampires that had held him down slumped on the wall and completely motionless.

Damon attempted to push himself up onto his feet, but a sharp, shocking pain flooding into his right arm caused him to spasm back to the ground with a yell. Lightning started to whip and crackle around him.

He looked over at the staff to see a blinding light emanating from the middle of the tree branches at the top, several beams of it shooting out in tandem and hitting into the walls. One hit straight into Klaus' body and he froze, grimacing before his mouth twisted into a vicious smile.

"You all thought you could stop me?!" he growled, laughing as his body contorted under the strain of the power. The sight looked utterly demonic, bathed under solid red light, Klaus was struggling to stand under the effect of the staff's power, his eyes rapidly flickering golden and black.

Damon inched his way onto his feet with great difficulty, if he could just get to the staff and—

The sound of it snapping in half like a matchstick as Klaus swiped a clawed hand through it seemed amplified in Damon's ears. The light fizzled out and Damon went flying on shaky legs at the second shockwave.

He collided face-first with the wall, sliding down it with a groan. His head was pounding, felt sticky and wet, and he lay pathetically folded on the ground, his body vibrating with agony. His vision was rapidly blurring, dark spots teetering dangerously at the edges, as he struggled to hold onto consciousness.

He tried to crawl away, inch along the ground, towards his gun that had skittered away, but a firm hand on his shoulder made him freeze when his arm was outstretched.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this, Damon," Klaus said, sounding a mix between smug and grateful, "Without you, I wouldn't have known where the remaining pieces were," he pointed out with a soft chuckle.

Damon grimaced, looking up at Klaus' blurring face as he crouched down next to him. He could feel the raw, dark power emanating from him like a dark heartbeat. It made him shudder as it brushed against his nerve-endings when Klaus reached out towards his face to move away his blood-slicked hair from his eyes..

"People seem to have a habit of dying because of your actions lately, don't they?" he continued, tilting his head to the side, "If you keep it up, you'll have more blood on your hands than I do," he said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

"Now," Damon shivered as Klaus brushed a hand over his face, "What am I going to do with you?"


	3. Old Habits

With a sudden burst of energy, Damon forced his fingers to snatch up his gun and whipped around and fired a shot into Klaus' smirking face. He was gone in a shimmer of air, leaving an empty space in front of him, and his mocking laughter echoed around him.

He rolled onto his front, pushing himself to his feet and staggering exhaustedly against the wall. One of his arms was flooded with pain, hanging limp and his fingers were slow in moving. He swore under his breath—it was either broken or dislocated.

Gripping his gun tightly, he blinked back the blurring and dark spots overwhelming his vision, wiped at the blood on the side of his head and headed off in the midst of the carnage. He spotted a vampire hunched over a hunter and was feeding off her.. Fuming, he fired a shot into its back.

He stood up when he felt the impact, whirling around with a threatening growl that turned into a soft laugh when he noticed Damon.

"Ain't you a strong one?" the vampire remarked, leering at him.

Damon's world spun and his legs shook under him. He tried to steady himself as the vampire began advancing on him and fired off several haphazard shots at the blurring vampire's form, hearing a cry of pain and watching the vampire fall to the ground desiccating.

He took a moment to gather his breath, then rushed over to the hunter the vampire was feeding on and crouched down beside him. He pressed two fingers to his pulse point just as the extremely faint beating tapered off to nothing.

"Shit," he cursed, and in frustration, he slammed his good hand down on the ground. "_Shit!_"

Damon reached into the dead hunter's pocket and took his gun from him, taking out the clip of bullets and discarding the clip from his gun with only one remaining bullet left. Over the pounding in his head and awkwardly trying to hold the gun between his limp fingers that weren't co-operating.

He wedged it between his knees and tried to work the clip into the gun, but his good hand was shaking uncontrollably and he kept causing the clip to slip and slide in at an awkward angle. Blood was also sliding into his eyes from his head wound and he had to stop to try and wipe it away.

A sudden explosion nearby staggered him and he yelled in pain as he reflexively slammed his injured hand on the ground to steady him and instead collapsed to the side and landed on it. He grit his teeth and rolled back up, wiping blood out of his eyes, abandoning the gun with a groan of frustration. He needed to get the hell out of here.

Steeling himself, he shot off down the corridor amongst the ensuing carnage. He passed a woman completely covered in flames, shrieking and wailing in agony, stopping in horror to watch, slack-jawed, as she fell flailing through a window.

Something heavy slammed into him and Damon grit his teeth as a wave of pain flared up in his arm. He pressed his good hand against whatever tackled him, noticing the flash of fangs but was too sluggish to react. He groaned as the vampire's fangs stabbed into his neck.

With his good hand, he reached up to grab at the vampire's face, struggling to focus. He jabbed his thumb into the vampire's eye that was closed in pleasure, cupping his head as best as he was able to leverage his thumb to sink into the soft flesh.

The vampire ripped away from his neck with a yell of pain, and Damon forced himself to press harder until a thick river of blood poured out from the vampire's eye socket. With a tremendous yank of his hand, the vampire's head was pulled to the side with his thumb still caught in the socket.

His neck broke with a sickening crack and Damon felt his dead weight collapse on top of him. He shoved him off, getting to his feet. His surroundings spun and blurred, going dangerously dark as black spots began to bloom at the corners of his eyes. He slumped weakly against a wall, his heart hammering in his chest.

His adrenaline was beginning to wear off and the pain, and the heat of the fires around him was threatening to overwhelm him. There was a rough jerk behind his navel as something lifted him off his feet, and he went careening through the air.

A door he slammed into splintered into pieces under his weight, and Damon went tumbling to the ground. His entire body was vibrating with agony and his grip on consciousness was starting to slip; he could barely lift his head.

Boots appeared in his field of vision and he was roughly rolled onto his stomach and his arms tugged behind his back. Damon cried out when his injured arm was stretched to his limit, like a pained tendril that desperately needed to snap, and he felt hard plastic scratch against his wrists.

He was lifted into a fireman's carry, slung over the person's shoulder. He desperately tried to pull his arms free, but they were stuck fast behind his back. Damon's mind went fuzzy and he felt time beginning to fuse together as he was carried from the destruction of the headquarters.

It was like a series of flash-frame images playing out over his mind: the bloodied, broken bodies of the hunter's littering the floor; a black car illuminated under the glow of a street light; Klaus' face and feeling soft leather pressing against his back; the rumbling purr of a car starting; a deafening sonic boom that lit up the outside of the car window and made his ears pop and ring…

Damon jolted himself out of his daze, struggling to catch his breath.

Confusingly, there was darkness from one direction and bright white light coming from another. His heart was pounding in his chest, half of his body pulsing with pain, while his arms were heavily numb. Massive dizzy spells came and went sporadically and his body was running hot.

Dried blood flaked off his skin as Damon tried to turn his head and see where he was. He pushed through the agony and sat up, swinging his numb legs around so he was sitting properly in the backseat.

"Son of a bitch…" he groused through a persistent dizzy spell.

His vision cleared up with a few hard blinks of his eyelids, but the first thing he noticed was the strong smell of gasoline. Frowning, he looked out the passenger side window: the car was parked in a gas station and it was pitch dark out. It was empty, save for the one car currently pulling out.

He realized in confusion that the _car_ was empty too. "What the hell?"

He leaned forwards and peered through the windshield, squinting and spotting Klaus through the window of the little store, paying for the gas. Damon had to move fast before he came back; he'd be damned if he let there be a repeat of Florence.

Awkwardly contorting himself, he managed to work his arms over his legs and slip them to his front, swearing through the pain of his injured arm being yanked and pulled. He shuffled forwards and fumbled for the door handle, leaning against it to try and shove it open. It clicked but didn't budge.

Locked. _Damn_.

Groaning in frustration, he climbed haphazardly into the front of the car, and tried to open both the passenger and the drivers' side door. Both of those were locked too.

He was going to have to take a less conventional way out, it seemed. He settled into the passenger seat and angled himself to brace his feet against the window, repeatedly slamming his boots into it until the glass gave way and blew out onto the ground below. The sound of rain suddenly filled his ears.

With a glance at the store, Damon noticed Klaus was still inside. Luckily he hadn't noticed the sound of the window breaking. It seemed he was caught up in conversation with the clerk. He spied a large, jagged shard of glass still sticking out of the window frame.

It took more effort than he wanted to admit to work his bound hands up over the glass shard, feeling the blood starting to flow back into his fingers. He began to work the zip tie against the sharp piece of glass, gritting his teeth as the plastic cut deeply into his wrists and began to expose beads of blood.

They gave way with a snap but were still stuck to his wrists. Damon didn't care, shaking his good hand and flexing his fingers to let the blood fully circulate again, and grabbed the window frame to haul himself out of it.

He tumbled out face-first unceremoniously, landing awkwardly on the ground and swearing loudly into the silence of the gas station as he rolled onto his injured arm again. Klaus more than likely heard _that_, and Damon used the car door handle to pull himself up onto shaky legs, leaning against the car to catch his breath.

Looking around, he spotted a large sign off to the right of the intersection across the span of the station. _Mystic Falls Gas Station: Fill 'er up here!_ At least he was still in town, and he realized he wasn't actually that far from an old abandoned house he used to sneak into as a kid.

Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, he broke into a run and headed off into the pitch darkness under the needles of rain. Klaus most likely wouldn't know about his hiding place, so he could hole up there and patch himself up, perhaps contact Ric to see if he made it out of that shit show at headquarters and could help him out.

_God_, he hoped someone did.

Several cars shot past as he continued to run down the bank next to the road, but Damon started to panic when he felt headlights wash over him and the car they belonged to was beginning to slow down, the rumbling filling his ears.

After a precursory look to where he could run to, he shot a glance at the car, relaxing when bright red paint shining under a streetlight greeted him, and he saw a concerned couple getting out of the car, pulling hoods over their heads. He wiped the rain out of his eyes to see better.

"Sir are you all right?" a blonde woman asked in concern as she and her partner came closer.

Damon started to back up, realizing what he must've looked like. He couldn't involve them in this. He shook his head quickly, with a nervous smile, and started to protest: "I'm fine, I just—"

"Shit, what happened to you?" the man wondered in disbelief, eyes stuck on the zip ties gouged into Damon's skin.

When his eyes then started to scrutinize every inch of him, cataloging all the wounds — he must've looked a right sight — Damon's stomach started to twist in extreme discomfort and any response died in his throat.

"I—"

It took Damon longer than he wanted to admit that he was starting to hyperventilate and he felt his face flush with shame. He'd faced down the most powerful supernatural being in the world, _twice_, and lived. Now he was getting queasy over two strangers?! Pathetic.

"Brooke, call the police, honey," the man urged.

The woman — Brooke — nodded and dug into her jeans pocket for her phone and walked around to the front of the car to give herself some space, while Damon struggled to control his breathing.

"No, don't," he protested weakly, shaking his head that was starting to pound again, "I'm fine, I just—"

"Don't be stupid," the man interrupted incredulously, "You look like hell," he commented, looking him up and down.

Damon desperately racked his brain for an explanation to try and get out of this, but there was nothing he could say to try and reason all this away, and he wasn't in any shape to outrun either of them.

"Darren, there's no signal," Brooke called from where she was over by the hood of the car.

"Keep trying," Darren urged her.

She nodded and redialed 911. From the relieved sigh, she must have reached someone. "Ah, yes, hello," "My husband and I just found an injured man on the side of the road and he looks pretty bad, like someone…"

Damon shook his head in protest, spraying droplets of water everywhere, trying again to dissuade the couple from getting involved as Darren turned to his car and went to get something out.

"Look, you _really_ don't want to—"

"Here," Darren said invitingly.

Warmth touched his hands and Damon almost dropped the thermos lid of soup Darren was holding out for him before he realized what it was. He gripped it in his good hand, looking up at the other man completely bewildered.

"Look like you could use a pick me up," he commented.

He smiled through his chattering teeth, despite the situation. "Don't happen to have any whiskey in that magic bag, do you?" he asked.

Darren chuckled, but Damon wasn't entirely sure he was joking—would probably help numb the pain at any rate. He tried some of the soup. Chicken noodle: it was actually pretty good and warmed him to the bone.

"I do have some bandages though, just wait there," Darren instructed, momentarily gesturing for him to stay put.

Damon sighed heavily, rubbing his injured hand over his damp face. He had given up trying to protest at this point, they weren't listening, and finished up the thermos of soup whilst shielding it from the relentless rain as best he could. He just needed to wait for a good opening to run—Klaus was still out there and would have _definitely_ started looking for him now.

For all he knew, he _had_ and was just waiting for the right moment to strike. The thought made something cold streak down his backbone, and he couldn't help the reflexive glance into the darkened forest behind him that bracketed both sides of the road.

He was so deep in thought he didn't notice Brooke had come back over until she tapped him on the arm.

"The police say they'll be here in about twenty minutes," she said with a reassuring smile, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "We'll stay until then, right honey?" she added to Darren when he came back with the bandages.

"Absolutely," he promised, taking the empty thermos cup from him.

It brought back Damon's will to protest—if they were around him, how the hell was he going to get away? "You really don't need to; I just need to—"

"Nonsense, we're not leaving you here on your own," Brooke insisted, looking at him like he was insane.

The kindness of these strangers couldn't help but fill Damon with a mix of gratefulness and stomach-churning disgust. If these two were so willing to help him, why had he been more than willing to extend no such decency in Florence and leave those hunters to burn to death? While the situation was entirely different this time, it highlighted a stark contrast between Damon and the couple in front of him.

He was stunned into silence when they even helped clean him of blood and bandage his wounds up, only grimacing uncomfortably when Brooke had to dig her nails into the sensitive skin under the zip ties to work the hard plastic off of him.

Darren bandaged his wrists up, as well as the stitched-up gash on Damon's palm from earlier that morning that he belatedly realized had gotten ripped open in the struggle back at headquarters. The couple lead Damon over to the car and opened one of the back doors so he could sit down.

Easing onto the seat made him wince in pain and caused Darren and Brooke to exchange a look bordering on sympathetic and shocked.

"What happened to you, man?" Darren wondered as Brooke eased a threadbare blanket onto his shoulders, "Was someone keeping you hostage, or—" He cut himself off, looking at Damon with a shake of his head, utterly lost, "Hell, I don't know, keeping you for satanic ritual sacrifice?" he suggested half-jokingly.

Damon shrugged and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, grimacing as it set off pain in his shoulder. "Don't want to talk about it," he said vaguely.

Brooke leaned in towards Darren's ear. "Honey don't push him," she whispered insistently.

As Damon leaned further back into the car, he felt something hard and metallic poking into his spine. He spun around in confusion to see the leg of a folding chair, as well as two large backpacks bulging with camping supplies. Explained the random thermos of soup Darren had to give him.

"So, you two off camping somewhere?" he asked conversationally.

"We're going to see the comet flying over tonight," Brooke said excitedly.

"You'd better hope this rain clears up then," Damon chuckled.

"This one wouldn't listen when I told her it would," Darren complained teasingly, giving her a tiny nudge.

"It'll clear up," she said dismissively, with an off-hand wave.

"I heard thunder on the drive up here," Darren insisted.

Brooke rolled her eyes with a fond chuckle. Damon noticed fog swirling around their feet and frowned in confusion. It could've been there when he was running and not focused on the floor for all he knew, but something felt wrong. It was an all-encompassing feeling creeping up him like the blanket of fog around his ankles.

"Forecast say anything about fog too?" Damon asked, nodding down at the fog when Brooke frowned at him.

When she clocked it, a confused, "What the hell?" came out of her mouth and coupled with Darren's confused reaction just set Damon on edge. _No_, the fog most definitely wasn't around earlier.

A rustled explosion burst from the bushes behind them, and Damon's eyes widened. His head darted reflexively in the direction of the noise. Had Klaus found him?

"What was that?" Darren asked, squinting towards the darkness of the forest that the streetlight above couldn't touch.

"Probably just a fox," Brooke said with a shrug, opening the passenger side door of the car. "I'll go check it out," she offered, pulling out a flashlight and shutting the door after her.

As she headed off around the other side of the car to investigate, Damon felt Darren's reassuring hand on his shoulder. He must've looked more spooked than he wanted to let on.

"Don't worry, the police will be here soon," he said kindly.

Fidgeting against the cold air sweeping over him, Damon muttered under his breath, "It's not them I'm worried about."

He jumped as Darren suddenly nudged with with a triumphant grin, confusing him.

"See?" he said emphatically, but no, Damon didn't, "I told her I heard thunder!" he added smugly, shaking his head with a chuckle.

"I didn't hear anything," Damon said, smiling uncomfortably. The fog was becoming a dense, white blanket—he couldn't even see his shoes.

"You find anything, honey?" Darren called in Brooke's direction.

Silence. Then an ominous clap of thunder.

"Brooke?" he called again.

Darren grabbed another flashlight from the car and motioned for him to follow. "C'mon," he urged, his voice taking on a wary edge.

Damon reluctantly got up, shedding the blanket. They walked into the direction of the bushes Brooke had gone. Darren's flashlight illuminated a large rock with blood running down it. _Fresh_ blood.

The flashlight moved upwards as Darren followed the blood, letting out a horrified yell at what met him.

It was Brooke's body stuffed awkwardly into a tree, with a large, bloody gash in the side of her neck.

"Oh _shit!_" he yelled, looking dismayed and horrified, "Brooke!" he cried.

Damon was rooted to the spot just staring up at her. _Klaus was here_; he'd found him.

"Move it!" Darren shouted, scruffing Damon roughly and hauling him back in the direction of the car until he recovered his wits.

They recoiled from the car in shock. It was all closed up.

"What the fuck?!" Darren said in surprise, exchanging a look with Damon.

He went over to the car to wrench the drivers' side door open, but it was locked. Damon watched as Darren took the keys out of his pocket with shaking hands, fumbling to find the beeper to unlock the doors. They tumbled into the fog in Darren's trembling haste.

"_Shit!_" he cursed, and he dropped down to his knees to search for them in the fog.

_Snap!_

The sound came from overhead, loud and menacing in the silence. Damon felt something cold running down his back.

A huge black shape slashed its way down through the branches of an overhanging tree and crashed down onto Darren. His horrified screaming spurred Damon out of his daze and he turned and ran in the opposite direction down the embankment into the darkness of the forest.

He was sprinting as fast as he could, straight into the thicket of the woods without glancing back. His boots were squishing into the mud underneath him and his face and arms were getting raked by twigs and leaves, and the rain was stinging into his eyes. He couldn't see much in front of him except the outlines of the trees, there wasn't even a moon out to illuminate the night.

Damon crashed straight into a tree and sagged against it when he physically couldn't push himself to run anymore, trying to catch his breath. His throat burned from exertion and he was _exhausted_. Half of him wanted to just stop running and let Klaus catch him, while the rational half was screaming at him to not give in.

Pushing himself away from the tree, he forced himself to keep running on shaky legs while he still struggled to catch his breath. All around him was a blanket of darkness; he could scarcely see anything. He had ran far enough to where he couldn't see the light from the streetlights on the road.

He hit the ground hard as he tripped on a thick tree root, loose branches and leaves scratching his arms and face as all the wind was knocked out of him. He shoved himself up from the muddy forest floor, feeling white hot anger burning through him as he kept moving forwards.

Why him? Of all the people in the world — all the vampire hunter's in the world — was Klaus so fixated on him and content to make his life a living hell? Why was—

Damon halted in his tracks, feeling a rush of terror. He had no idea where he was or where he should be going; every single tree in the damned forest seemed to look the same. He felt sick for thinking it, but he should've snatched Darren's flashlight before he made a run for it.

He took a deep breath to try and calm himself down — ignoring the hitch in his breath when his ribs twinged painfully — and closed his eyes and listened. The wind howled and sliced through his damp clothes like an ice-cold knife, making the old trees creak and groan in protest. There was another rumbling growl of thunder not too far away.

Nothing identifying at least, but he wasn't expecting to hear a car. Most normal people were in bed and not awake at ridiculous times of the night outrunning homicidal supernatural maniacs in the pouring rain! He figured, with a begrudging sigh, to just keep going in a straight line; he'd come out of the forest and end up somewhere eventually.

Sloppy mud squished under his boots with every step, his legs utterly _throbbing_ from the agony while his breath repeatedly caught in his throat. Miraculously, even as he stumbled over branches, rocks and the uneven ground he managed to stay on his feet.

His legs eventually gave out as a massive wave of exhaustion brought him down, and he landed on the softness of the forest floor, groaning in pain as mud and leaves filled his nose and mouth. He curled in on himself pathetically, his teeth chattering loudly from the cold; he couldn't take this anymore.

He rolled over and got onto his knees, sluggishly trying to push himself up with only one hand, but his palm was slick in the mud and he almost collapsed face down again. Frustrated tears started to burn his eyes.

There was a gust of wind behind him, then something grabbed him around the waist and held him tightly as he was hauled completely off the ground. He struggled and wildly hit out with his uninjured arm, his panic intensifying when he realized human fingers were digging into his sides.

In a momentary glance up in front of him, his stomach dropped. No, _not_ human.

"I knew you'd try and run," Klaus chuckled, his teeth flashing white even in the darkness, "I never expected _that,_" he commented, sounding enthralled.

"You _really_ don't know when to give up, do you?" he remarked with another soft laugh, sounding genuinely impressed.

Damon just glared into the shape he could make out of his face, wiping the relentless raindrops from his eyes.

"Although, I've got half a mind to drain you for that little stunt," Klaus went on, his voice hardening a little, "That car was a rental and wasn't cheap," he chastised him.

"Sure you've got room after that couple?" Damon blurted out without thinking.

Klaus' melodic laugh filled the silence of the forest and spurred something in Damon to start trying to squirm away and wriggle out of his grip.

"Careful," Klaus warned.

Damon didn't catch what he was on about until he stopped and looked at Klaus, seeing him looking downwards with a smirk on his face. Damon followed his gaze and, with a sick jolt of realization, felt his feet dangling in mid-air as the treetops were several feet below him.

"Since _when_ can vampires fly?!" he asked incredulously, suddenly very conscious of the fact he was about twenty feet in the air.

"Not scared of heights, are you?" Klaus teased.

Damon narrowed his eyes in a hateful glare. "Put me down!" he said through his teeth.

His eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness he could make out Klaus' sheer amusement written all over his face. "Right here?" he asked in surprise, "Right this second?" he added, sounding in complete disbelief.

Then he made a face of agreement. "Okay."

His steel grip, the only thing holding him up, vanished and spinning terror consumed him as he realized he was falling through the space below his feet.

Klaus' hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, holding him with ease as if he weighed nothing while Damon reflexively grabbed at him and struggled to force air into his lungs. His heart was pounding in terror, but he wasn't going to let Klaus see it.

"Oh," his tone was delighted, "you meant on the _ground_. My mistake."

Damon silently fumed, glaring up at him heatedly through the pelting rain blurring his vision.

With one swift motion, Klaus jerked him into the lean hardness of his body, and Damon couldn't help cling to him as the only solid thing around him. He felt his muscles fluttering against him, then they were falling again.

Klaus landed with ease, absorbing the impact, and just held him. It was strangely intimate the way his hands were cradling him and made Damon's face burn with indignation; it was bruisingly tight and he could feel his breath on his lips. He felt a pleasant heat filling him and his eyelids were drooping closed; he felt his head tilt back and his lips part—.

"You know, it would've been such a waste of your talents if I'd let you fall," Klaus remarked, looking him up and down appreciatively.

His voice jarred Damon back to reality and his hands surged out to shove him away as he lurched backwards in tandem. He collapsed tiredly against a large tree behind him with the bark digging painfully into his back.

Klaus just watched him curiously, head slightly tilted as he folded his arms. His heart sank—this was it, no getting away now. It was always a game between the two of them and he was losing.

"If you knew I was gonna run, why not just knock me out?" Damon demanded in irritation. None of this made sense—then again, hardly anything in Florence made sense either. Seemed Klaus was as determined as he was then to thoroughly bewilder him.

"What can I say, you're fun to watch," Klaus admitted, then his seemingly ever-present smirk made his eyes glint with mirth, "And the car didn't even need gas, I was just buying some whiskey," he added.

Damon scoffed and shook his head. Of _course,_ this entire thing was a ploy to play with him, see what his desperation would drive him to do. He should've known; the bastard delighted in seeing him squirm and stripped bare, how was this any different?

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't even hear Klaus muttering, "But you're right, I probably should knock you out," and remarking, "It's not like you'll come quietly, is it?" until it was too late.

With one hard shove, he flew face first into the tree trunk behind him. His teeth rattled inside his mouth and his body fell limply to the floor, his entire world — mercifully — going dark.

* * *

The first thing Damon was aware of when he came to was an overwhelming heat swarming all around him, then he felt his limbs being pulled like marionette strings. His gummy eyelids peeled open and he saw Klaus' blurred figure in front of him.

"How have you not given me head trauma?" he heard himself rambling in his gaze.

Klaus grabbed his face and angled it towards him; his surroundings spun and his head seared painfully, he blinked to try and clear his vision, but couldn't make out whether he was looking at him or not.

"You don't have a concussion, you're fine," Klaus said dismissively after a while of looking at him.

"If by 'fine', you mean in 'agonizing pain', then I'm _super_," Damon retorted in a grumble. He honestly didn't remember being in this much pain in his life, and a vampire back in Florence had beaten him to the verge of unconsciousness.

He shifted to try and get comfortable, feeling nothing but hard edges and wood pressing into his back. His legs wouldn't move from whatever he was sat on, his ankles stuck fast. He tried looking down at himself, seeing the blurred blob of his muddy jeans pressed together.

His vision cleared abruptly when a twinge of pain shot through his shoulder as Klaus grabbed his injured arm and twisted it until he cried out. Damon then realized he was tying something around his wrists, grimacing as it irritated the fresh wounds under the bandages.

"Should keep you honest," Klaus chuckled while Damon grimaced to stop any further crying out, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

With a pat on his shoulder, he crouched down beside the chair.

"What the hell are you doing?" Damon wondered in confusion, trying to twist behind him and see what was going on. He had to awkwardly bend his head to be able to see Klaus kneeling beside the chair.

His tied legs were pulled backwards ever so slightly, as were his wrists. Damon tried to move them, feeling uncomfortable at how they were bent underneath the chair, but couldn't as it tugged on his bound wrists. Klaus must've tied them both together to keep him still.

His hand briefly cupped the back of his head and stroked through his hair. "I figured bleeding the vervain from your system will be a lot nicer than just leaving you tied here for a few days," Klaus reasoned.

Damon rolled his eyes and snorted under his breath, warily watching Klaus pick up a knife from a small dresser table.

"And I'm just not patient enough to wait to be able to compel you this time," Klaus admitted with a mock-sympathetic look.

"To what? Be your boyfriend?" Damon asked sarcastically, making Klaus bark out a laugh.

"I do have some standards, you know," he pointed out, sounding mildly offended, "Besides, I don't know where you've been; wouldn't want to catch anything," he added with a scathing glare.

"Careful," Klaus said in a low voice, gripping hold of his chin with the other hand, "I wouldn't want to have to cut your tongue out for being a smart-ass," he said, waving the knife tip in front of his mouth in warning.

"If you were going to, I'd've been tongue-less since Florence," Damon said knowingly.

"True," Klaus agreed, quirking his eyebrows.

Chills shot through Damon's body as the cool metal of the knife touched his overheated skin, running feather-light over his lower lip. A blunt increase of pressure, and he tasted iron in his mouth and felt blood dripping down his chin.

The playful look in Klaus' eyes turned dark and hungry. He leaned in and flicked his tongue out and up to catch the thick bead of blood, catching Damon's lower lip between his teeth and sucking gently. Damon wasn't clear on whether he brushed his lips against the other man's or not.

He groaned quietly at the feeling of loss when Klaus pulled away, Damon's blood on his lips. He couldn't take his eyes off him as he licked his lips clean.

The feeling of cold metal against his face startled him. The knife tip pushed stray hair away from his eyes and then trailed ever so gently over his cheek like a twisted lovers' caress. It was a dangerous form of intimacy that made him squirm against his bonds and had heat coiling deliciously in his abdomen.

When the knife and Klaus' touch left his skin, it started to burn unbearably hot, flushing through him and making him struggle harder, frustrated at the uncomfortably feeling.

"Come on now," he chuckled, looking him up and down with a smile that just infuriated Damon even more.

"What do you think would happen if you got free?" he asked.

"_What do you think would happen if you got free?" Klaus wondered with a chuckle, looking amused from where he was leaning on the door frame._

"_I'm five feet away from you," he remarked, eyes glinting with mirth, "You won't be able to get past me," he stated._

_Damon grit his teeth in frustration, ignoring him, and fruitlessly trying to tug his wrists out of the restraints. He was rubbing his skin absolutely raw and the pain was making involuntary tears burn in his eyes._

"_Come on, stop it before you hurt yourself," Klaus chastised as he walked over, having to grip hold of both of Damon's wrists to get him to stop moving._

"_Why am I even up here?!" he asked in frustration, glaring up at him._

_Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather be back down there with the rest of them?" he asked, "the 'whiny ones', you called them," he pointed out, giving him a knowing look._

"_Honestly, I'd have to flip a coin," Damon admitted. He wasn't sure what was more annoying than some of the hunter's constant crying — he got it, they were scared — or Klaus' goddamned smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face._

_Klaus raised an eyebrow at the remark. "It's just to get the vervain out of your system," he explained, "I thought I could save you a headache for a few days," he smiled._

_Damon rolled his eyes. How considerate of him, the asshole. He grimaced as Klaus suddenly grabbed his hair and forcefully arched his neck—he must've said that out loud._

_There was a soft, hissing sound in his ear before he felt a sharp pinch on his neck, the pinch swelling to a dull, spreading pain as Klaus fed from him. It was a shallow bite, but still hurt like a son of a bitch._

_Some of Damon's own blood dripped onto his shoulder as Klaus pulled away, breath ghosting over his neck as he whispered in his ear, "And it seems like we've got a way to go."_

_He turned to see him feigning a disappointed look, his mouth dripping with his blood._

"_So, it looks like you've got the pleasure of my company for a few more days."_

"You're lucky I am going to heal you though," Klaus went on, his voice now coming from behind Damon. He tried to twist around to look at him, but it made his shoulder twinge painfully.

"I doubt even you're silver-tongued enough to explain those scars to your little brother," he added, sounding a mixture between impressed and teasing.

He felt Klaus' hand gently on the back of his neck, then a sharp pinch that made him wince. As Klaus came back into view, Damon started to feel his limbs getting heavy and lead-like.

"What did you do?" he asked, struggling to hold his head up and trying to keep the panic out of his voice as his limbs started going numb and he felt his fingers becoming increasingly difficult to move, like they were turning to stone.

"It's a barbiturate, it'll wear off in a few hours," Klaus said reassuringly, placing a tiny glass bottle and a syringe on the little dresser in front of him.

Off Damon's confused frown — barbie-what? — he elaborated further:

"A muscle relaxer; It'll be quicker if I stick to the major arteries," he explained, "Wouldn't want you to squirm and make me accidentally cut anything important." That last edged his voice with thinly-veiled excitement and his eyes glowed dangerously.

Damon let out a confused yell as Klaus fisted the lapel of his shirt and ripped it open completely down the middle, the buttons flying everywhere.

"Now what am I supposed to do, walk around shirtless?!" he admonished him.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," Klaus said with an appreciative glance at his chest, then to perhaps cement his point further he tore the useless tatters of fabric away from his arms and tossed them aside.

Damon rolled his eyes, and tried not to wince at the deep, stinging sensation of the knife cutting into his chest. He grit his teeth and glared up at him as his blood started to seep down his abdomen.

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you," Klaus reassured him, running a hand down the side of his face, but Damon was anything but.

He was unsure of how long he had sat there covered in his own sticky blood — it must have been 'a few hours because he could slowly start to move his fingers again — while Klaus continued to cut into him and seemed to get increasingly frustrated the longer it went on.

He grimaced as Klaus grabbed his hair tightly and yanked his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"What's your name?" he intoned, his pupils dilating.

Damon felt the compulsion washing over his brain, but it didn't touch him as he was still able to grumble, "You know what my name is," tiredly, and not for the first time.

When Klaus released his hair with a pinched sigh, Damon shot a peek at his body; he was completely covered in rivers of blood, and there were black and purplish bruises littering his abdomen, his arms and up by his collarbone. The blood flaking off and cracking whenever Damon tried to move made him feel a little nauseous, and the air from any movement made the fresh cuts sting and throb.

"This is getting tiresome," Klaus said in irritation, "Maybe I should've just left you in here," he commented off-handedly, although it sounded more to himself than him.

"I hardly drank any vervain yesterday," Damon said sluggishly—the only bit he drank was the tiny shot's worth that his dad gave him, and that wouldn't have lasted in his system very long.

"Yet for some reason, I still can't compel you," Klaus said, his mouth becoming a thin line.

Then it looked like something crossed his mind. "If I know your father, he's probably been slipping it into all your alcohol," he reasoned, "And considering the amount you've been drinking, even the late-night whiskey"—

Damon's eyes narrowed self-consciously before he could stop it. How did Klaus know _that?_

—"I'd say you're absolutely full of it," he said with a shake of his head, looking amused that he didn't figure it out earlier.

"Then how did you get into my head?" Damon asked, "Find out about the other amulet pieces?" he wondered. He very nearly asked 'and give me that nightmare?' but managed to catch himself.

Klaus raised an eyebrow with a smile. The answer hit Damon like a freight train.

"You read my mind," he concluded, feeling extremely violated. He wasn't even aware that was a power vampires possessed—how many of those he hunted had been able to see into his thoughts?

"Vervain doesn't protect from that, strangely," Klaus shrugged.

"So, can you read this?" Damon asked, then projected a very fitting message in his head towards him.

Klaus' face remained stoic as he said, "Very mature," in a dry tone, "But I doubt it would fit, darling," he added, his sternness giving way to playfulness.

Damon rolled his eyes—nope, he wasn't bluffing.

Then perhaps in response to it, Klaus took the knife and slashed deeply into the crease of Damon's elbow. He swore loudly at the searing pain, feeling light-headed as his blood began to pour out of him, his stomach churning when he felt it dripping and soaking into his socks.

Blearily, he looked around and spotted his ruined boots over in the corner of the room. Klaus must've taken them off.

As the stinging pain of more cuts began to overwhelm him, his body started running hot and cold at once. His thoughts scrambled into an incoherent mess and he struggling to concentrate on anything. Everything in front of him was becoming a blur and he was struggling to catch his breath. Darkness faded in and out in front of his eyes and his head was lolling backwards, the chair digging painfully into the back of his neck.

His hair was grabbed again. He could just about make out the hazy gray blobs of Klaus' eyes, couldn't tear his gaze away—his lips were moving, but he couldn't hear his voice properly, it was a garbled mess.

Then his own mouth was moving of his own accord:

"Damon Francesco Salvatore," he heard himself whispering, his voice sounding very far away.

His head slumped onto his chest as Klaus let go of him. He tried his hardest to lift his head and focus on what he was saying.

"About time," he commented in relief, "I was starting to get bored," he added.

Damon let out a weak, spluttering noise of protest. Then, strangely, he felt Klaus hand rubbing on his chest. His hand was sticky and it made him frown.

He was just able to make out blood staining Klaus' fingers, then saw him withdrawing his hand to slice at his fingertips. Then the gentle, somewhat soothing touch, returned to his skin again. Damon leaned into it of his own accord as best he was able.

"Why're you doing that?" he asked tiredly, his voice slurring a little.

"It still heals, just less for you to worry about since it won't be in your system," Klaus explained.

It turned out he was right. As more of the cuts were healed, Damon's pounding headache went away, his vision cleared, and the overwhelming heat of his body running hot completely disappeared.

His limbs were weak and languid when Klaus untied him, and he had to grip white-knuckled onto the chair to steady himself on shaky legs as he stood up. His wrists ached and he rubbed them gently, noticing blood was starting to soak through the bandages Darren had given him.

There was a chill of air and then Klaus was in front of him, grabbing his chin and tilting his head up, trapping his gaze. Damon tried to pull away, but he was rooted to the spot.

"You can't leave the house until I tell you to, or unless you're with me."

Klaus' dilating pupils turned Damon's mind into a fuzzy mess. The only thing that stuck out was that, no matter what, under _any_ circumstances, he was not supposed to leave the house by himself, or until he was told otherwise.

He swore under his breath when Klaus released him with a smug look, sighing heavily. He rubbed a hand slowly over his face, trying to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. A loud yawn escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

Klaus crossed the room and headed for the door, hanging back to look at him when he opened it.

"You should get some rest," he advised him, giving him a once over. "You look like Hell."

Then he closed the door behind him, leaving Damon alone in the dark room with only a few candles. He sighed, fisting a hand through his hair in aggravation. So much for there not being a repeat of Florence.

Despite the newfound energy from Klaus' blood, the bed in the corner of the room was looking incredibly tempting to his aching muscles. He slumped over to the bed and collapsed onto it, not giving a damn about the dried blood at present.

He pulled himself fully onto the bed and got comfortable. It was dangerous to take this at face value since he was most vulnerable in his sleep, but every atom in his body was screaming at him in pain. He couldn't keep going anymore.

When he let his eyes drift closed, Damon felt a languid stupor flowing through his body and mercifully succumbed to his exhaustion.

* * *

A dull, throbbing agony was what woke Damon up. He opened his eyes, gritting his teeth as the pain in his left arm came back full force. He eased himself off of the bed, still feeling incredibly drowsy. His sinuses felt stuffed up and his entire body ached.

Light poured into the room from the large window, a gray and dreary beam illuminated the room enough to where Damon could see the candles he had been left with completely burned down to waxy pools in the stands.

He spotted a gray Henley shirt draped over the edge of the bed, as well as a note laying on top of it. Suspiciously, he picked up the note. If Klaus had been in the room while he was asleep, God only knew what he could've done to him.

_I hope this shirt's to your liking, Mr. Salvatore_—

But perhaps he hadn't been. Klaus wouldn't call him 'Mr. Salvatore' unless he was trying to be facetious. Who else could be in the house, though?

—_and that you slept all right._

When he went to grab the shirt, he realized there had been a pack of wipes under the note. He opened the packet and picked a few out, making a start on cleaning the blood off his body, arms and chest.

He wasn't sure what force possessed him to go and look in the small mirror perched on the larger dresser — that weirdly he hadn't noticed last night — but he felt sick looking at his own reflection.

His hair was caked with blood and dirt, his right eye had a nasty, purple bruise over it and was a little bloodshot, his skin was streaked with filth, and dried blood crusted under his nose, on his lower lip where Klaus had cut him, and from a slash mark on his cheek. His hands were also grimy with dirt caked under his nails and his fingers flaked with tiny little cuts.

He cleaned himself up to some semblance of decency as best as he was able with one arm as any movement from the other sent shocks of pain up his spine — and awkwardly pulled the shirt over his head. He figured it must've been one of Klaus', since they were about the same size.

His muscles were tense and he was on-edge as he opened the bedroom door, not sure what he was expecting behind it. The large, spanning hallway that he landed eyes on made his jaw drop in surprise.

It stretched out in front of him for what looked like a good few feet, and there were several doors lining the cream walls. There was a banister curving down into a staircase that Damon peeked curiously down, seeing a large, carpeted staircase spiraling down to a large, marble floor.

He headed down the stairs, being greeted with an expansive foyer with a massive chandelier affixed to the coved ceiling. The size of this place was overwhelming and felt like a maze, with four entrances spanning off into different rooms, because of course Klaus Mikaelson couldn't be content with a normal sized dwelling.

Damon walked up to the front door, glancing around carefully for any sign of Klaus before he reached a hand out towards it to test just how far his compulsion went.

His hand was stopped before he could even close it around the door handle. He frowned and tried again, feeling a strong force pushing back at him when he tried. Stubbornly, he didn't relent on his third try until all the muscles in his hand violently cramped.

"Damn," he groaned, flexing his fingers and flapping his hand to try and shake the cramp off.

He headed into a room to the right of him, finding a dining room with a table large enough to seat twelve people — Damon wasn't even going to comment on the irony — that was joined openly with a spotlessly polished kitchen.

Gripping onto a chair, Damon felt how solid they were and an idea formed in his head. There was a large bay window across from him. With his good arm, he lifted up the chair and heaved it in the direction of the window.

He jumped back with a yell as the _chair_ splintered into pieces and the window remained perfectly intact. His puzzlement gave way to shock as he pressed a hand against the window—or _went_ to. His hand flattened against another invisible barrier before he could get near the window, feeling that familiar sensation of his muscles cramping.

He slumped into the bay with an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. He was well and truly stuck here.

"You're awake."

Damon bolted up in surprise at the unfamiliar voice, coming face-to-face with a young, red-haired woman. She was holding a silver tray with a plate of food and a mug, looking a little confused at his reaction.

"Mr. Mikaelson said to make sure you ate," the woman was saying as she set the tray down on the table, "And to see you drank this," she said with a gentle shake of the mug, "he says it'll help with your arm," she relayed.

Damon took it from her with a bewildered smile, peering suspiciously into it. Klaus' blood was bright red against the white china mug.

"Right," he said off-handedly, placing it back down on the tray. The woman was grinning, either completely oblivious to his awkward discomfort or not acknowledging it.

"You like the shirt?" she asked brightly, "I thought it would suit you," she added with a kind smile.

"Yeah, thanks," Damon said quietly, feeling a little unnerved at the thought of someone being around him asleep and he didn't wake up — at least it hadn't been Klaus — he must've been tired.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asked the woman, frowning at her in confusion.

"I'm Sylvia, I work for Mr. Mikaelson," she explained, still brightly smiling. It was starting to look manufactured and fake at this point.

"You know he's a vampire?" Damon blurted out in wonderment.

Sylvia chuckled and if it was possible, her smile got brighter. "There's no such thing as vampires, sir," she said in disbelief, speaking as if she was humoring a small child.

Something was starting to feel off about her to Damon, her eyes looked too wide and bright, and her laugh was high and shrill, as if she were faking it.

"Okay," he said slowly, drawing out the word and nodding his head, "Where _is_ Klaus, anyway?" he asked.

"Out food shopping," Sylvia told him.

"Is that what he calls it?" Damon muttered in disbelief, shaking his head.

"What happened there?" Sylvia asked suddenly.

Damon frowned at her, noticing she was nodding towards the floor where the remains of the chair were. "I threw it at the window," he stated simply, shrugging.

Sylvia looked at him like he was strange. "Why would you do that?" she asked, bewildered.

"Trying to get out, I'm stuck inside," Damon admitted.

"Just open the door," Sylvia said, as if it was obvious, looking at him with curious amusement.

"Can't," Damon said, "Klaus compelled me to stay inside unless he said so," he explained, neglecting trying to explain that it was physically barring him from getting near any potential points of exit either.

"Compelled?" she repeated, frowning at the unfamiliar word.

"Controlled my mind," he elaborated, "He's a vampire," he added emphatically, wiggling his eyebrows.

There it was again, that head shake of disbelief and ridiculous sounding laugh as soon as the word 'vampire' left Damon's lips. Once again, she said:

"There's no such thing as vampires, sir."

Damon mentally snorted. Yep, she was definitely compelled. He waved it off, realizing he wasn't going to be able to have much of a conversation with her. So, there was probably no way he could use her to help him escape, either. Klaus would've thought of that if his compulsion was so strong and irritatingly thorough.

A chiming sound snapped him out of his thoughts. He frowned at the familiarity of it, reaching a hand towards his pocket, but felt it squish against his empty pocket.

"That's my phone," he said tightly as the chiming continued.

Sylvia started as if she had just been shocked. She took his phone from her back pocket and handed it to him.

"Mr. Mikaelson had it," she elaborated off of his confused look, "He wanted to make sure you got enough sleep and weren't woken up," she smiled, "He said you looked like you needed a good rest," she finished, giving him a once-over.

"How thoughtful of him," Damon commented dryly, rolling his eyes as he slipped his phone into his pocket.

Sylvia grinned, once again oblivious to the true nature of Damon's feelings bubbling under the surface.

As he fiddled with his phone to try and dispel some of the awkward air in the room, something crossed his mind.

"Sylvia?" he said, she hummed in response. "What time did Klaus and I get here?" he asked.

"Around one in the morning, I think, that's when he woke me up and had me get you fresh clothes," she explained, "I don't know what you were up to, but you were all cut up and dirty," she added, looking mildly horrified.

"Right, thank you," he said appreciatively.

She nodded with a smile, then suddenly began shooing him away by flapping her hands. He bewilderedly moved out of the way, nodding in realization when she dropped to the floor and started to pick up the larger pieces of the broken chair.

He sat at the table in front of the tray of food, feeling his stomach growling from hunger at the sight of it. It was just a few sandwiches and a salad, but it had the appeal of a whole steak dinner to his aching stomach. He ate it without much trouble, not realizing how hungry he actually was.

The plate was completely bare in a matter of minutes, all that remained was the cup of blood that Damon was eyeing warily. He knew Klaus wouldn't risk turning him into a vampire, otherwise he'd be more difficult to wrangle if he were stronger and faster, but accidents still happened—all it would take was a slip and tumble down the staircase.

With a pinched sigh, he took it and downed the blood in a few gulps, feeling his sinuses clear up and the dull pain leave his arm almost instantly. He flexed the fingers of his had-been injured arm, feeling absolutely nothing from the movement at all.

Once Sylvia was done with the largest part of broken chair clean up and left the dining room, Damon pulled his phone out of his pocket. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw the digital time emblazoned across the home screen—4pm, he hadn't slept that much in a long time, his nights usually plagued with unwanted memories or phantom pain from his scars.

He tried to ignore the multitude of texts from both Stefan and Elena, even one from Bonnie, wondering where he was. Instead he dialed his voicemail, seeing the notification for a message.

"You have one message, received yesterday at 11:45pm," the automated voice said.

The sounds of panicked screaming and crackling greeted him first, then a worried cry of, "Damon!"

It was Giuseppe! Damon started reflexively when he recognized the voice, turning the volume of the message down and hunching down on the chair to eliminate the risk of Sylvia hearing him.

"Damon, where are you?!" Giuseppe asked, and Damon felt his stomach knot—he'd never heard him sound so shaken in his life, not even after his mother died, "It's a massacre down here, everyone's dead and—"

The rest was cut off as an explosion crackled through the speaker. He heard a faint, pained groan and then the message cut out and the dial tone droned on. Damon quickly clicked the message off, feeling ill.

Immediately, he found his contacts and pressed the 'call' button for his father's number so hard he thought his thumb was going to break. He held it to his ear, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," he pleaded as the line continued to ring.

It stopped. "This is Giuseppe Salvatore, leave a—"

Damon ended the call with a frustrated sigh, feeling panicked. He couldn't text Stefan and ask if he'd seen him without having to try and come up with a half-cocked lie about where _he_ was.

Immediately, he brought up the Internet app on his phone and typed in 'Explosion in Mystic Falls' with shaking fingers. If it happened late last night now, there had to be some news.

The first result was an article titled 'Breaking News'. Damon pressed on the link, bringing the article up and skimmed hurriedly through it. His brain wasn't comprehending the words in his panic, but he saw there was a video attached.

He took a breath and pressed play.

"_Live on the scene is reporter Olivia—_"

Damon impatiently fast forwarded it, skipping past the news announcer with an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach.

When he let the video resume, there was a dark-haired newswoman filling up the screen. Behind her was the burning remnants of the headquarters spewing ash and thick black smoke into the air.

It was utterly swarmed with paramedics standing by their ambulances and cops taping off the area while firemen tried to tackle the bright orange inferno, yelling to their colleagues in the background of the newswoman talking.

"…_a large gas leak has caused an explosion in the downtown area, and there are no survivors_."

* * *

**So, Damon is Klaus' captive again (I really put him through the ringer, didn't I?) and things are only gonna get 'worse' from here ;) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter—please review and lemme know what you thought, and I'll see you all next time. **


	4. Repeating Patterns

The words 'No survivors' played on a nauseating loop in Damon's mind until it became a mantra of 'Your father's dead', and he stayed staring aimlessly at the ground, not focusing properly, until the report tapered off into a commercial with obnoxious pop music that sounded like a cable car accident.

He jerked and exited out of the webpage. He found his contacts and his father's number, urgently pressing the call button.

It rang for a long time, with Damon impatiently twitching his knee in aggravation, muttering "Pick it up, damn it," under his breath repeatedly.

The ringing stopped, and Damon briefly let his hopes up, only to have them dashed as he was rewarded with his father's voicemail message: "This is Giuseppe Salvatore, leave a—"

He halted the call, swearing under his breath and flinging the tray off the table as a sudden wave of aggression overtook him. The loud, metallic clattering stirred him back to the present, only to see Sylvia walking over with a concerned look on her face.

"Bad news, Mr. Salvatore?" she wondered.

"Yeah," he said simply, a lump forming in his throat that he swallowed down, "Sorry," he apologized quickly, realizing the mess and standing to clean it, "I'll—"

"No worries, it's what I'm here for," Sylvia said quickly, smiling brightly and waving him off.

Damon shrugged and walked away, muttering under his breath about Klaus being extremely powerful and yet couldn't dust his own worktops. He spotted a liquor cart in what he guessed was the main sitting room, and a familiar looking bottle of amber liquid was looking extremely tempting.

He picked it up and turned to where he could see Sylvia cleaning up the floor, calling over to her, "You think Klaus'll mind?"

She looked up from where she was cleaning, registering the bottle he was holding with a smile—was that _all_ she did? "He bought that one specially for you," she explained, "Said it was your favorite," she added cheerfully, before going back to cleaning.

"Of course he did," Damon said under his breath, but nonetheless pulled the top off and started to drink it straight from the bottle.

He settled on a nearby armchair, picking up his phone to rifle through the messages that had lit his home screen up like a Christmas tree, reading each one with an off-hand swig of bourbon.

From a brief overlook, most were from Stefan after last night.

_Where are you?_

_Out late with work friends? No worries, but let me know first, huh?_

He took a large swig of bourbon when he realized one message was dated from today, at about eight in the morning, so it was probably sent before Stefan went off to college:

_Did you crash at a friend's place and head straight to work? _

Then a message a few minutes later, perhaps as an afterthought: _Have you seen dad; he didn't come home last night._

Damon felt his stomach clenching with a wave of guilt — if he ever got out of here, how was he going to explain that? — and deleted the rest of Stefan's messages he had yet to read, mostly variations of him wondering where the hell he was, becoming more panicked after he'd heard about the explosion downtown. As far as Stefan knew, that was where he and his father 'worked'.

He started on reading Elena's messages.

_Hey, Stefan's pretty worried about you, do me a favor and call him so he gives his frown lines a break._

Then about an hour or so later: _Damon, please pick up the phone!_ —

Yep, that fit with his several missed calls from her.

— _We're concerned, especially with how you've been acting lately. Even if you don't want to talk to Stefan, you can talk to me any time._

And he sincerely wished he _could_ sometimes, but it wasn't worth putting them in danger just because he needed a soundboard. He rubbed a hand over his face before taking another long sip of bourbon; how was he ever going to remedy this with anyone?

He frowned at the message from today left under an unknown number, opening it up.

_Hey Damon, it's Bonnie—I got your number from Stefan. You free to talk later? That was some crazy stuff and I'm going nuts over here trying to make sense of it all. I'd really appreciate it._

Damon jerked in his seat—he'd completely forgotten about Bonnie being caught up in that horrendous disaster. At least he knew _one_ person made it out; hell, it could've been more, there was no way there had been enough time between the report being broadcasted to properly survey the dead inside. Hell, they had still been trying to hose it down while that woman had been reporting on it!

It wasn't wise to get his hopes up though. Those vampires had massacred any hunter in their path and it was only by the grace of Klaus, once again, that he had survived that at all. Even if his father hadn't been at headquarters, there was nothing saying Klaus couldn't have sent a few vampires after him.

The burn of the bourbon down his throat was a welcome distraction from the thoughts of his father's supposed death. He finally reached the end of his messages with one from Caroline.

_Damn, you must be sleeping off a hell of a bender. Well, when you wake up from the realm of the hungover, please call Stefan or Elena, they've been worrying about you so much they'll get wrinkles before the day's out._

Despite himself, Damon found himself snorting with laughter at the mental image. She was wrong though; he was nowhere near drunk enough to deal with all this.

"What are you up to?" Klaus' voice crashed into his thoughts.

Damon felt himself jump out of his skin as he jerked up in surprise, seeing Klaus standing in front of him, looking down at him with his eyebrow slightly raised.

"Drinking," he said simply, picking up the bottle of bourbon with a wry smile.

Klaus pulled a face of agreement. "Well, it _is_ ten in the evening, do what you like," he conceded with a small smile.

Ten in the—

Damon jolted upright, looking at a large antique grandfather clock on the mantelpiece above the fire. Indeed it was. He frowned at himself, how long had he been sat here staring at his messages? Wasn't it light out when he started?

Belatedly, he noticed he'd drank the bourbon down to the dregs too. Klaus laughed quietly when he picked up on it too.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Klaus asked.

Damon's eyebrows shot up, regarding Klaus like he was insane. Perhaps he hadn't heard right. His throat went dry. "What?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" he repeated.

Damon opened and closed his mouth in utter shock, before he managed to ask, "Talk about what?"

"Whatever's got you drinking yourself into cirrhosis," Klaus said as if it was obvious.

Before he could catch hold of his senses, Damon had shot off the couch and levelled his fist straight into Klaus' jaw. Pain briefly bloomed up his knuckles, but he felt satisfied as Klaus, clearly caught off guard, staggered from the force of it.

"All this is thanks to _you_," he hissed as he walked as close as he dared, jabbing a finger in his face in warning, "So you don't get to ask me if I wanna 'talk about it'," he fumed, the sheer audacity of the man infuriating him.

Scoffing, Damon stepped away with a shake of his head. He picked up the bottle and downed the remainder of the bourbon. He felt Klaus' eyes burning into him and he whirled around angrily, seeing a calm mask on the other man's face that made his rage turn white hot.

Perhaps in a moment of delirium, Damon put down the bottle and punched him again. Or he tried, Klaus had caught his wrist and was leaning back ever-so-slightly.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking confused.

"What does it look like?" Damon said through clenched teeth — he'd've thought that much was obvious — managing to land another hit on Klaus' cheek.

"Damon, I'm warning you…" he growled lowly, in the back of his throat.

Damon was unimpressed, what was the worst he could do? He scoffed out a laugh and caught the other man in the face with a headbutt that had him losing his grip on him.

"Or what, you'll kill me?" he goaded him, feeling his heart hammering inside his chest. He was a tight coil that needed to explode.

All the air was suddenly slammed out of him in a surprised gasp as Klaus slammed him into the nearest wall with his wrists pinned beside his head so hard Damon couldn't move. The hybrid's body pressed painfully close against his own, his fangs coming out and his eyes turning gold in warning.

"Sometimes I would love to know what goes on inside that head of yours," Klaus remarked as he looked at him in a mix of awe and fury.

"You can read my mind, you tell me," Damon shrugged, daring him.

"Where's the fun in that?" Klaus chuckled.

When the gold swirled from his eyes, he was left looking at Damon with perhaps one of the most anger-inducing smirks he had ever seen. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or his current situation exacerbating it, but he just wanted to wipe it off his face.

And he did. Pushing forwards, utterly frustrated, he kissed him.

"What are you doing?" Klaus asked in bewilderment once he pulled away; for once, he didn't look like he had the upper hand and Damon was pleased. Then he raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you steal my letter opener again?" he wondered.

Damon snorted under his breath, remembering in Florence that he'd somehow been fueled with enough adrenaline during his first escape attempt to pick the lock of his cage with the pilfered letter opener from one of the few times he'd been in Klaus' room, and murder a vampire with it.

"Very funny," he said, rolling his eyes in irritation.

He moved to kiss him again but let out an audible groan as Klaus let go of one of his wrists to gently push him back against the wall, hand resting on his forehead.

"All right, seriously," he said plainly, "What's the matter?" he wondered.

Damon's eyes narrowed as he fumed inwardly. Why the fuck was Klaus wanting to talk about his feelings _now?_ Or at _all?_

"Not important," he said dismissively, shaking his head as he started to get worked up, "None of this is fucking important, I just don't want to feel like this right now, okay?" he said bluntly.

"Okay," Klaus agreed, looking at him with an expression Damon couldn't quite make out—it couldn't have been regret or sympathy, no fucking way, he didn't know the meaning of the words, but for once he didn't seem perpetually smug.

Damon felt his groin swell as Klaus' hand slid down from his forehead to his neck, coiling tightly over his throat. He smirked—it must have been the alcohol making him braver.

"Just remember you asked for it," he reminded him, raising his eyebrow.

Klaus' strange expression was replaced with a victoriously smug look that clouded Damon's vision before their lips met in an explosive, violent kiss that had him tasting blood in his mouth as his head grazed against the wall he was pinned to.

They tore haphazardly at each other's clothes, until Klaus growled lowly in frustration and slammed Damon down against a nearby coffee table, bending him over it so hard it made his breath catch in his throat. He groaned as he felt Klaus' own arousal pressing against him as he worked his jeans and boxers down over his thighs.

He pushed himself up from the table but was shoved back down with an iron grip around his wrists as Klaus' body blanketed over him to trap him there. His knees were pressed painfully into the hardwood floor and it sent a shock of arousal straight to his groin.

"Don't you have something to say?" Klaus purred in his ear, his breath hot and heavy over his skin.

Damon narrowed his eyes even though Klaus couldn't see him. "Just shut up and fuck me," he growled impatiently.

Klaus huffed a soft laugh. "Manners are escaping you tonight, I see," he commented, amused.

The pressure momentarily left Damon's wrists and the brief sound of clinking metal and rustling fabric filled his ears. It bruisingly returned to his wrists and Damon felt an unbidden cry tear out of his mouth as Klaus savagely pushed inside him.

He grit his teeth to stop himself crying out further, digging his nails into his palms at the feeling of the electrifying pain of Klaus thrusting in and out of him. It was an addicting feeling and the only control he had. But it wasn't much, and it was going to slip fast.

He still felt unsatisfied but couldn't move back to meet Klaus' thrusts as he was pinned between the table and the other man's body.

"Harder, come on…" he said breathily, squirming as best he was able to encourage him.

Not that Klaus needed much of it; he pressed completely down on Damon's body and used his tight grip on his wrists as leverage to thrust harder into him. Damon swore he heard faint splintering from under him — he had to be using a fraction of his vampire strength — and let himself relax into the hard thrusts, completely split open and raw.

As much as it hurt, as much as the thought of their liaison would turn any sane persons stomach, he desperately needed it; secretly craved it; _wanted_ it. For a moment, he could forget the shitty situation he was trapped in, and just let himself feel something _good_. Even if Klaus Mikaelson was the one making him moan like a wanton whore.

One of his wrists throbbed as Klaus momentarily let go to rear back and rip Damon's shirt apart at the neckline, exposing his back. He felt Klaus' tongue and lips on his overheated skin, kissing and sucking, biting down a groan when his fangs slipped into him; a bite here, a bite there… A mix of blood and saliva dripped down his back and it made Damon's arousal painful.

A clawed hand twisted into the tendrils of Damon's hair and yanked his head back, arching his upper half completely off the table as he writhed helplessly at the onslaught of pleasure overwhelming him. Klaus' other hand reached across his chest to rip the rest of his shirt off him and discard the tattered fabric.

The hand in his hair slipped down to the back of Damon's neck to join the other, tantalizingly raking its claws over his hardened nipples, to clasp closed over his throat. His head throbbed in time with his arousal as the need for air rapidly encroached him, becoming accentuated with every beat of his heart. Wetness slicked down between his thighs as his abdomen coiled in pleasure.

He became incoherent as Klaus continued to thrust into him, grabbing tightly onto the arms wrapped around him as he showed no sign of slowing down; the noises that spilled past his mouth were a series of groans of, "Oh, _fuck!_" and various colorful words before staccato gasps overtook him.

(But he would fervently deny that Klaus' name was mixed in there somewhere).

"You like that, don't you?" the other man chuckled into his ear; Damon didn't need to look at him to know he was smirking triumphantly.

"Of course you do," he continued knowingly, his laughter tapering off, "Fuck," the rare epithet slipped from Klaus' mouth wrapped up in a pleasured groan, "You feel _incredible_," he remarked.

The compliment made Damon's stomach blossom with warmth. He hoped Klaus wasn't expecting a response, because for all his usual snark and wit, he couldn't do much else than gasp in broken moans as his climax remained so far away with no end in sight.

As his rhythm increased, the pressure on Damon's throat was alternated to the point he was seeing black spots dancing across his vision, could catch a breath only to have it stolen away the next moment. He was completely at Klaus' mercy, unable to do more than twitch and spasm weakly as his hips were wrenched forwards, bruisingly hitting into the edge of the table with each movement.

Somewhere in the periphery of rushing pleasure, he felt Klaus' tongue lazily encircling the flesh of Damon's neck that his hands weren't crushing around, drawing his head and torso flush with the hybrid's rocking form. Damon's mouth was jealous at the lack of attention as Klaus' was occupied with marking up the flesh of his neck.

Despite that, a deep-seated moan of satisfaction slipped out of his mouth as delicious friction dragged over a spot inside him that had him seeing stars and explosions of color at the edges of his vision, just enough to keep him hanging over the edge, but not enough to let him drop.

"There you go, Damon, just like that," Klaus encouraged him, momentarily stopping his ministrations on Damon's neck to bite at his earlobe.

Damon could no longer articulate what he was feeling, he just gasped and groaned as he was smacked with wave after wave of intensifying sensation—_fuck_, did it feel good as the sensations ricocheted off his nerve-endings and through his entire body, adding a layer of depth to his frustratingly teetering climax.

"Oh fuck, _please_," he gasped out pathetically, the sound barely audible to his own ears,

"_Please_… c-can't take_ anymore!_" he protested, gritting his teeth to stop the loud keening sounds that wanted to fly out of his mouth.

A deep moan rumbled from his chest as Klaus' hands dug into his neck bruisingly and choked a whimper out of him, his claws slitting into the flesh and causing beads of blood to appear there.

"You'll take whatever I want you to, understand?" he growled into his ear, the words going straight to Damon's groin in a delicious spiral of heat.

It was eerily quiet as Damon couldn't articulate a response, mainly because of the air being cut off to his brain and the sensations he was lost in. He was brought somewhat back to earth when Klaus stilled inside him.

"Damon…" His tone touched on a warning.

"_Yes_," he choked out eventually, forcing breath into his lungs, "Yes, I understand," he panted. God, he was going to drag it out even longer.

"Don't move," Klaus ordered.

Damon momentarily frowned, but let his body relax as Klaus picked up where he left off with his intense thrusts. He let out a noise of protest as he let go of his neck with one hand, sheathing his claws so he could push his fingers into Damon's mouth, deep enough it made him gag and simultaneously coat them with saliva.

He was sure Klaus kept them there for longer than necessary just because the sight of him gagging on his fingers thoroughly amused him.

His own saliva dribbled down his chin as Klaus withdrew his hand, feeling himself flush hot at the image. A tiny moan slipped out of his mouth as Klaus wrapped his now-slick hand around his erection and stroked him at an excruciatingly slow space. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or pleasure burning in his gut that had his toes curling in anticipation.

The momentary pause had Damon swearing under his breath in frustration, and after a few lingering moments he rewarded him with a much more relentless pace. He squirmed helplessly in his grip, thrusting back into Klaus' hand as much he was able, trying to chase the miniscule amounts of pleasure he was given.

His hand stopped moving, although his relentless thrusts didn't, and Damon heard the smirk in his voice without needing to look. "I said 'don't move'."

Reluctantly Damon stilled, then Klaus continued his movements, pausing every so often to tantalizingly circle his thumb over the slick head. He felt his body rushing towards his climax, clenching his hands into painfully tight fists that broke the skin of Klaus' arm.

"Oh god—!" he gasped, unable to control himself as he helplessly wriggled in Klaus' grasp.

And then he stopped. He was burning all over, completely unfulfilled and unsatisfied as he felt the throes of his release ebb away from him. He narrowed his eyes and felt his lips curl back in an angry snarl.

"You fucking c—"

The scathing epithet was cut off as Klaus unceremoniously slammed Damon back down onto the table at full force, pressing his head achingly into the hard wood as he started to — impossibly so — thrust into him even faster, his other hand working Damon's aching arousal at a steady pace.

He was only aware of the tears streaming down from his clenched shut eyes when they began to pool on the table and leech onto his skin. He felt bruised and ached all over, but it sang through every inch of him and jerked him from the numbness that had encased him earlier.

He was shaking violently, felt like he was going to break in half. He grasped onto the edge of the table so tightly his fingers went numb. His body kept convulsing with each thrust, each stroke, and he freely let more tears of pleasure roll down his face.

"…fuck," Damon groaned out, unable to do much else other than squirm and convulse helplessly in his grip, "Oh, _fuck…_" His release was _right there_ but he couldn't reach it.

"Come for me," Klaus whispered in his ear, each thrust laying more pressure into every pleasure point inside him as his hand kept up its momentum, "That's it," he coaxed as Damon ground into the itch that he could finally scratch.

With a loud, clenched-teeth hiss he shamelessly let himself tip over the edge just as Klaus sank his fangs into the back of his neck. The combined movements of his hand over his aching arousal and the aphrodisiac of his blood being drawn out sent him into an agonizingly pleasurable climax that had him blacking out as an explosion of molten colors flooded his vision.

When he came to next, he was aware of his own heavy breathing before he could even open his eyes. He pulled himself from the blanket of darkness surrounding him, not recognizing the unfamiliar room around him as he blinked the fog out of his vision.

The ache in his body was indescribable, and he felt weak and languid. His eyes felt puffy and stung, his head was throbbing and his neck and back were burning on contact with the air around him. Dried blood was pooled in his collarbone and staining his skin, flaking off as he sat up on whatever he was laying on. He had been bundled in an armchair.

He went to push himself up off it and fell back swearing under his breath as searing pain shot through his lower half and his weak hand slipped on the arm. He grit his teeth, swearing once more as he saw ringlets of gray bruises around his wrists, laying atop the scar tissue there.

He could also see more clearly where the dried blood was. It was completely down the side of his neck and on his left arm in coagulated drips. He touched the tender bite mark with a wince, awkwardly fumbling up his back to feel the others. The side of his face was also numb, starting to tingle as blood slowly flowed back to the area.

Damon let out a sharp breath and forced himself to his feet, heading over to an open door partially revealing an ensuite. His mind was a muddy mess; he had no rational explanation for his actions earlier — he wasn't so pathetic as to say it disgusted him, because it really didn't — he had just gotten to the point where he didn't want to think, made it so he didn't have to and let his actions do it for him.

He'd been pushed to that limit in Florence a few times when the line between sanity and reality had gotten blurred, when the bloodshed staining his hands and face became a common enough sight to permanently desensitize him, and it seemed history was doomed to repeat.

But now the adrenaline high had long-worn off, he felt empty once more, trying to stop the invasive thoughts that his father was dead and gone, had died scared and alone wondering if his son was still alive. He shoved them down, switching on the light to the bathroom and picking up a washcloth on the edge of the sink.

He soaked it in water and began scrubbing at the blood staining his arm, having to turn and awkwardly angle himself to see the reflection of his back in the mirror. He carried on until his skin was rubbed raw and the water in the sink was dyed a deep red.

He dropped the washcloth down with a wet splash, looking at his face in the mirror. Blossoming bruises in the shape of fingerprints were faintly encroaching on his jaw and his neck where Klaus had been holding him. He huffed at the absurdity, wagering mirroring bruises were littering his thighs—he _had_ asked for it, God, even _liked it_.

What did that say about him? That he was so willing to surrender himself to a monster for a few seconds of paltry control that really didn't seem like much in hindsight. He couldn't blame anyone else but himself though, or even the alcohol, and given half a chance he'd let Klaus do it again.

He let out a loud, aggravated sigh. This had to stop somehow. A silver glint in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Damon picked up a razor from the small pot beside the sink.

Exhaling, he took the protective cap off and pressed it blade-side to his neck, feeling a shudder of fear as his artery pulsed wildly under the blades. It would be so easy to just apply a little pressure and _move_—

"_No_," he growled into the empty room, throwing the razor down with a clatter, "You don't get to win this one, you bastard," he swore.

* * *

Two weeks.

Damon had been stuck with Klaus for two — now bordering on three — weeks. It had been a slow, almost sickening, realization that Klaus was all he had to rely on for human (sort of) interaction and company that didn't make him want to tear his hair out. In the end, it made him lock himself up in his room and avoid him as much as possible. Every so often, Sylvia would come up to try and talk to him or bring him food, but he couldn't often muster the energy to talk to her for more than five minutes, and on his bad days, that fake, compelled smile that shone in her eyes grated on his nerves.

Eventually she gave up trying, only dropping off meals in silence that Damon often just picked at. Not that he blamed her, and on occasion felt bad for throwing it back in her face when she didn't know anything about what was going on and was just trying to make him feel better. He was just so _tired_, no matter how much he had fought to get out of Florence, he was trapped in a similar situation once again that he had tried his hardest to avoid.

The stress had taken its physical toll on him, which Damon noticed occasionally when he went to shower or shave in the morning. He had gone so pale he almost looked translucent, his hair was starting to fall out, and his eyes were hollowed with permanent smudges of darkness despite the constant amount of sleeping he was doing just to pass the day by.

He was becoming dangerously thin, with muscle falling off his frame quite alarmingly. He either hadn't been eating because he hadn't felt hungry, or what little he had managed to eat had come back up within an hour or so later accompanied by violent stomach cramps.

As it was, he was currently laying on his bed with all the energy sapped from him, feeling incredibly nauseous and weak, with a raging headache.

He supposed he needed to get up, try and muster something so he could eat and see if Klaus had any painkillers laying around. Slim chance, but if he'd had that weird Barbie-liquid muscle relaxer, then it was possible he had more over the counter stuff. There was another human in his mansion, after all.

Forcing himself to get up from the bed, he had to grab the headboard as his surroundings spun. He gingerly made his way out the room and down the spacious hallway, heading towards the staircase.

The dull ache in his head became searing pain and he groaned, grabbing at his head as if he wanted to claw into his skull and scratch out whatever was hurting him. He teetered precariously on his feet when he reached the top of the stairs, grabbing onto the banister as he felt bile rising in his throat.

It slipped through his fingers and he thrust his arm out reflexively, catching a wall sconce. But his weight tore it from the wall, then there was nothing but air behind him.

Every stair edge bruised him painfully on the way down, then he skidded to a stop on the bottom floor when his head thudded into something hard enough to make his world go dark.

He had no clue how long it had been until he woke up.

A faint steady beeping sound roused him. Was his phone going off? He reached out to fumble on the dresser table for it, but his fingers grasped nothing but air. Frowning, he opened his eyes to see the table wasn't there.

The table was gone because he wasn't even in his room. He was met with the blinding white decor of a hospital room, and the beeping wasn't his phone, it was a monitor he was hooked up to via an IV tube taped to his hand.

He felt weightless and floaty, nothing hurt until he moved, then the throbbing in his head was offset by a red-hot ache that bought him crashing to earth. He groaned quietly, feeling through his hair until he found a hard, raised knot that made him wince.

He swore loudly when blood came off on his fingers, loud enough to attract the attention of a nurse in the hallway.

"Well," she walked over to his bedside with a reassuring smile, "Gave us quite a fright, Damon," she said as matter-of-fact.

"What happened? Where am I?" he mumbled quietly. He couldn't remember much else except wanting painkillers.

"Mystic Falls General," she explained with a kind smile, "Your vitals were extremely low and you suffered a massive spell of vertigo and passed out, hitting your head."

"Your BMI is also severely under what it should be for a man of your height," the nurse continued in concern.

Damon didn't say anything.

"I have to ask," she began delicately, lowering her voice, "But is there any history of an eating disorder? Or any illness you've had that's made you lose your appetite, such as Crohns?" she asked.

"No," Damon shook his head tiredly, "I just, uh…" he trailed off and tried to come up with an explanation that was worthy enough to keep him out of a psych ward, but anything plausible died in his throat when he saw Klaus in the doorway over the nurse's shoulder.

"Wasn't really a priority," he said eventually, pulling a face, "Work's been kicking my ass," he added, that not entirely being a lie either.

"Even work doesn't usually take precedence over an essential thing to stay alive in my experience," the nurse said bluntly. Damon just shrugged; he didn't know what to tell her.

"I know it's difficult to talk about, especially as a man," she started, and oh god, where was she going with this? "But there _is_ help out there if you're suffering with an—"

"Now, now," Klaus intervened as he walked inside the room, putting a hand on the nurse's shoulder when he caught her attention.

Damon saw her eyes going blank as she was caught in Klaus' gaze. "If Damon says he's fine, then he's fine, there's no need to keep pestering him," he said plainly.

"Of course," she said with a nod, Klaus releasing her shoulder. She turned to Damon with an accommodating smile. "I'll be back to check on you later, see if you're all good to go home," she said, leaving him with a reassuring pat on the hand.

He watched her go, keeping quiet. It wasn't like he was going home, not for a long while anyway.

"What happened?" he asked, looking to Klaus.

"You fell down the stairs," he explained, "Gave Sylvia quite the scare," he added nonchalantly.

Damon was suddenly reminded of the bruising pain of hitting every single stair. He winced in remembrance, slowly sitting up. He was aching all over—dull and spread through every inch of his body. It was something he was worryingly becoming accustomed to lately.

"Explains the ribs," Damon groaned, huffing out a breath that he _really_ shouldn't have.

"You're lucky you didn't break anything," Klaus said, perching himself on the end of the bed, "Your little stunt could've killed you," he pointed out.

"What?" Damon asked in confusion, "I didn't purposely fall down the stairs," he said in a lame defense, not sure how long he would've lasted before he actually did try.

"You know what I'm talking about," Klaus said sternly, looking at him with a thinly-veiled glare, "You refused to eat for a long time in Florence, remember?" He raised his eyebrow knowingly.

Damon did remember, although it hadn't started out that way this time, he just wanted to be left alone, out of Klaus' way and without Sylvia's overly-cheery demeanor grating on him.

"I'm surprised at you," Klaus remarked, "It's not like you to give up," he added, sounding disappointed.

"If I had, I'd be dead already," he hissed through his teeth, not in the mood.

"Well, this might discourage you the next time you decide to be foolish," Klaus said knowingly, gesturing to the room around him.

Then he stood so fast when Damon looked up at him his neck twinged painfully. He saw Klaus biting into his palm, but he didn't comprehend what was going on until fresh blood dripped onto the bedsheets.

He saw the bleeding wound on Klaus' palm and struggled to move away, backing up as far as the headboard would let him. Klaus just gently grabbed his hair with the other hand.

"No," he protested weakly, trying to turn his head away.

Klaus held his head still whilst soothingly stroking his hair and pressed his bleeding hand over Damon's mouth, letting his blood ooze inside.

"Shhh…"

"_Shhh…"_

_Klaus' fingers were softly pushing against his mouth as Damon started to weakly thrash around in the bed, the overwhelming pain in his body making him grimace to keep himself from crying out. Beside him, the heart monitor was beeping into overdrive as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest in panic._

_His eyes widened in horror as he saw the glint of a needle. He had to turn properly to see what it was; Klaus was holding a syringe. But his horror turned to bewilderment when he watched him press the syringe into his arm, drawing his own blood. His mind was a fragmented mess and he didn't put together what was going on until Klaus started to fiddle with his IV tube and injected his blood in there._

_He sagged in relief, tired as the sudden onslaught of adrenaline left him, but he was still watching Klaus warily._

_As if the other man could feel his eyes on him, he said, "It's only a small amount, it'll be out of your system by the end of the day," in a reassuring tone. Then, "It's enough to get you back on your feet."_

_True to his word, Damon felt the blood acting almost instantaneously as it moved into his hand through the IV tube; his broken ribs started to snap and fuse back into place, his cloudy vision from his near-swollen shut eye started to clear, and a large gash sealed under a thick layer of medical tape and gauze knitted itself back together._

_The pain was vanishing a lot faster than it would have from the morphine being pumped into him, and when he blinked up at Klaus through two-properly functioning eyes again, he noticed the other man seemed to be marveling him—watching him like he was an interesting specimen._

"_Why didn't you kill me?" Damon wondered, his voice a pathetic husk, "Why would you make me go through all that, just to—"_

"_Hush now," Klaus soothed him, briefly reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, "Get some sleep," he advised._

"_You look like hell," he remarked, giving him a once over._

_Damon snorted through his healing nose; thanks to _him_ and his vampires, but instead he said:_

"_Just got back."_

As the blood flowed down his throat, Damon realized he was gripping Klaus' hand bruisingly tight after several swallows. He let go and leaned back, wiping the blood off his lips with a shaky hand.

"What was that for?" he asked with a frown. This wasn't after Florence; he hadn't thought it necessary.

"Would you rather be stuck in here for weeks being tube fed and practically analyzed under a microscope?" Klaus asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

Damon fidgeted uncomfortably at the imagined scenario. Klaus smiled when he noticed.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," he commented, while Damon just shrugged, "You're welcome," he added pointedly.

Damon didn't say anything, just shifted in the bed and tried to get comfortable without exacerbating any bruises; even with Klaus' blood now in his system, the aches and pains still seemed to be lingering.

"How long until you break, I wonder?" Klaus mused suddenly.

Damon almost hadn't heard him, feeling a frown encroach on his face when he realized what was just said. He just looked at him strangely.

"Florence bent you," he continued, "But I wanted to do you far worse," he admitted, finally turning to look at him.

"What the hell do you want from me?" Damon asked in exasperation, but he knew it was a fruitless question—Klaus didn't need a reason, it was all a game to him, a game he enjoyed playing.

"It's not about what I want," Klaus said with a shrug, "It's about what I can take from you," he corrected as Damon's frown deepened.

"I've already taken your sleep, and your smile," he went on, while Damon felt a self-conscious twinge in his gut, averting his eyes, "Your sanity's slowing slipping away, and you're becoming someone your friends and family don't recognize," he said knowingly.

He came to sit on the side of the bed again, looking down at him while Damon watched him cautiously.

"Do you think Stefan wants to see his big brother withering away to nothing? Or drinking himself into a grave before the year's out?" Klaus wondered, looking every _bit_ a concerned friend, except his words were hollow.

Damon grit his teeth in anger. "I won't let you do this," he said with a confident shake of his head. The '_not again'_ was unspoken, but they both heard it.

"You already are," Klaus pointed out, his eyes glimmering, "Either way, I'll win," he stated with a tiny shrug—it seemed inevitable, but not if Damon had anything to say about it.

"I knew what you were doing, both back in Florence and here," he carried on, chuckling to himself, "You really think dying would let you win this game, Damon?" he wondered, briefly looking at him with pity.

"If you die, I still win," he said simply.

"No," Damon argued back once he found his voice.

"Yes," Klaus retorted.

"No!"

With a frustrated grunt, Damon angrily lashed out, going straight for Klaus' eyes, but his fist was caught in a gentle grip as he just laughed at him, patronizingly patting his hand as the heart monitor's frantic beeping began to fill the room.

Eyes narrowing, Damon yanked his hand free.

"You should save your strength, you'll need it," Klaus advised him.

"Because it's not a question of _if_ I'll break you," he said as he leaned in closer; Damon had to tip his head up to meet his steely gaze, "but _when_, and how hard I need to push."

* * *

**Sorry for the wait guys, real-life stuff was kicking my ass. It was kind of a filler chapter (sorry about that, not sure how people feel about filler chapters) but things still managed to get a little bit hectic for Damon, huh? Hope you all liked it, favorite, follow, review, do what you do, and I'll see you all next chapter! :D**


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